INTRODUCTION

A FEW words by way of introduction.

I had wished to publish this book a long time ago, because I think it my duty to submit to the opinion of the public the things which I witnessed in the unfortunate land of the Belgians, and where I was present at such important events as an impartial spectator. I call myself an impartial spectator, for if this book be anti-German, it should not be forgotten that the facts give it that tendency.

That the book was not published sooner is because I could not foresee more than others how terribly long the war would last; and I should have preferred to wait till the end in order to insert several reports which I know are being kept in the occupied part, in order to acquaint the whole world with the full truth about the behaviour of the Germans. As long as the Germans keep the upper hand in Belgium, such a publication cannot take place without danger to several persons.

But because the German libels go on accusing the Belgian people of horrible francs-tireurs acts, I have thought that I ought not to wait any longer before giving my evidence to the public.

This book does not attempt to give more than evidence of the truth. It does not claim to have literary distinction; I have not even tried to give it that stamp. By relating various events successively witnessed, which have no mutual connection, this would be very difficult.

My stories are not exaggerated or touched up, but are true to reality. That is the reason why the German authorities have driven me away from Belgium, and tried to get hold of me to punish me. On that side they are afraid that the truth be known.

A long time after I had left Belgium I got hold of the Black List, in which I am mentioned twice over among eighty-seven other persons; once as Hokveld-Journalist and again as Mokveld-Correspondent. The list was published by me in De Tijd of June 2nd, 1915.

That I was "wanted" is proved by the fact that two persons have had the greatest trouble because they were mistaken for the Mokveld-Correspondent of De Tijd. My colleague Kemper passed a fortnight in prison in Brussels, accused of having written various articles in De Tijd, which were written by me, and I relate, in the chapter "Round about Bilsen," what Mr. Van Wersch, another Netherlander, suffered for the same reason.

But although the Germans are afraid to let the truth be known, there is no reason why I should withhold my evidence. On the contrary, I will try to do everything I can to make public opinion do justice to the unfortunate Belgians, trodden down and insulted, falsely and vilely libelled by their oppressors, and accused of offences of which they never were guilty.

THE
GERMAN FURY IN BELGIUM

CHAPTER I
ON THE WAY TO LIÈGE

When De Tijd sent me to Belgium as its correspondent, I had not the faintest notion practically how to perform my duties, for the simple reason that I could not apprehend at all how a modern war might be conducted. But I was destined to receive my first impressions when still on Netherland[1] territory and after my arrival at Maastricht.

On the hot afternoon of August 7th, 1914, the much-delayed train rumbled into the station at Maastricht. A dense mass stood in front of the building. Men, women, and children were crowded there and pushed each other weeping, shouting, and questioning. Families and friends tried to find each other, and many of the folk of Maastricht assisted the poor creatures, who, nervously excited, wept and wailed for a father, for wife and children lost in the crowd. It was painful, pitiful, this sight of hundreds of fugitives, who, although now safe, constantly feared that death was near, and anxiously clutched small parcels, which for the most part contained worthless trifles hurriedly snatched up when they fled.

And over these nervous and terrified thousands at Maastricht rolled from afar the dull roar of the guns, thunder-like bursts from which had frightened them so terribly.

The streets leading to the bridge over the Meuse and into the town were also densely thronged with refugees. Here and there large groups listened to the stories told, with profusion of tears, of sufferings inflicted, depicted in far harsher colours than could have been possible. But the wretched creatures exaggerated unconsciously; in their affrighted state they had seen things that had never occurred.

Suddenly every one in the Vrijthof ran in the same direction. I waited calmly, and saw pass by a tragically long train of hooded carts and other peasants' conveyances. The drivers walked by the side of the horses, the Red Cross flag flew from the carriages, fresh clean straw covered their floor, on which wounded soldiers writhed in excruciating pain. The crowd did not press nearer, but, standing silently in long rows, let the sad procession pass by. Such were the first impressions of the war got in these days; nobody uttered a sound, but many stealthily brushed a tear away.

Thus it went on all day long: motors and other conveyances travelled to and fro between the battle-fields and hospitals at Maastricht; fugitives moved about in streets and squares, upsetting each other more and more by fantastic stories.

As dusk came on nearly the whole population of Maastricht, with all their temporary guests, formed an endless procession and went to invoke God's mercy by the Virgin Mary's intercession. They went to Our Lady's Church, in which stands the miraculous statue of Sancta Maria Stella Maris. The procession filled all the principal streets and squares of the town. I took my stand at the corner of the Vrijthof, where all marched past me, men, women, and children, all praying aloud, with loud voices beseeching: "Our Lady, Star of the Sea, pray for us ... pray for us ... pray for us ...!"

At the same time bells rang ... and guns roared.

Group after group went by, and I heard French and Netherland, the Maastricht vernacular and sweet Flemish spoken, all sorts of tongues and modes of utterance. The men were bare-headed, and each let his rosary slip through his fingers. Soon after the head of the procession reached Our Lady Square the huge church was packed, and those who could not find room inside stood in the square, which also very soon was full with these thousands of people in a dense mass, like so many blades of grass in a meadow.

However large the crowd, it was silent as death when the priest Jacobs addressed them. He spoke words of encouragement, hope, and confidence, and urged them to send up their prayers to God Almighty—prayers for peace. When he had ended, these thousands sang the "Hymn to Mary," in such perfect order as if only one superhuman body sent forth an immensely powerful sound from earth to Heaven.

As I was listening to that hymn the storms in my heart subsided—storms raised by so many scenes witnessed during the day; but as soon as the sonorous voices were still, I heard again the dull boom ... boom ... boom ... of the guns. That dire reality!...

The next morning I got up early, having been unable to sleep. I realised already that my task was difficult, dangerous, and full of responsibility, for I had to find out and communicate to the public the truth about events, which would be related as beautiful or horrid, according to the interests of my informants. It was dangerous, because I might meet with the same fate that seemed to have been inflicted on so many civilians already.

Dressed in my sporting attire, and carrying some necessaries in a knapsack, I started early, going towards Visé along the canal. As I came to the Netherland boundary-stone and noticed that of Belgium, I had a moment of doubt, but it lasted for a second only. In order to divert my thoughts I walked somewhat more briskly, but was stopped suddenly on Belgian ground by a custom-house officer. I was astonished to see that official there still, for the Germans must be quite near and—as I had been told—small patrols had advanced frequently to this point. My papers were found to be in order, and the man seemed very happy to meet a journalist.

"It is a pity, sir, that you did not arrive a day sooner, then you might have witnessed great barbarity of the Germans. If you walk on a little farther along the canal, you will see three persons hanging from a tree near Haccourt; one of these is a boy of fourteen. Nobody was allowed on the road, and as a patrol met these three persons, they concluded immediately that they were francs-tireurs, strung them up on the tree, without a trial of any sort, and in addition shot each a bullet through the head. To-day another patrol arrived and had the effrontery to tell the members of the Maastricht Red Cross that the boy had murdered a captain. And we are not allowed to remove the corpses. Horrible!... horrible!"

"Yes," I reply, "it is bad, very bad, but is it really all true?"

"True? True, sir? You go and look for yourself! And let me tell you one thing—there are no francs-tireurs here! We know quite well what we may do and what not, and only a moment ago I received a message from the Minister of the Interior, saying that non-combatants who shoot at the enemy expose themselves to danger and their fellow-citizens to retaliations."

I asked him how things were farther on along the Meuse, but he knew nothing. He was stationed here, he said, and was going to stay as long as possible. As soon as the Germans arrived, most people fled, and those who had stayed on were no longer allowed to leave. So he lacked all information, and only understood that fierce fighting was going on, as was confirmed by the incessant thunder of the guns. Fort Pontisse was, moreover, not so very far away, and frequently we could distinctly tell, by their whistling sound, in which direction the shells flew.

After a few encouraging words I walked on along the solitary, deserted road, leaving the canal on the right, until a by-way took me to the bank of the Meuse, opposite the Netherland frontier village Eysden. I entered a deserted inn. After shouting for a long time, the inn-keeper appeared, looked shyly at me, remaining constantly close by the door of his room. His attitude showed that he was prepared to fly at the slightest suspicious movement on my part; but as soon as I had convinced him that I was a Netherland journalist, he became more friendly, and called his wife and daughters, so that I might tell them all I knew. They were very desirous to know how the war went ... in the Netherlands, and whether we were fighting the Germans or the English? It was very difficult to make them understand that they were under a misapprehension, but when I had at last succeeded in this, I started in my turn to ask them what they thought of my intention to go farther.

"Go farther, sir? But ... but ... sir, don't do that! The Germans shoot every civilian whom they set eyes on."

"Oh, go on!" I answered. "I don't think that I need fear anything of the kind. I am in any case a Netherlander!"

"Netherlander or not, it does not matter. Whosoever one be, every civilian is shot down by them."

"Are they at a great distance from here?"

"Not at all! If you step outside, you can see them standing, ten minutes from here. Near Lixhe they threw a bridge across the Meuse. It is the third already which they put down, for each time they are smashed from the fort. Oh, it is horrible; there must surely fall a number of dead, and here we have seen corpses in the Meuse already.... But I do not understand how you ventured to come here...."

Well, I did not quite fancy the prospect of being shot like a dog, and as I had not yet come into touch with the Germans, it was difficult to say whether these people exaggerated or not. But just opposite was Eysden, and I made up my mind to go there for further information.

Netherland soldiers and inhabitants of the village bustled about along the opposite river-bank. I shouted as loudly as possible; and when at last I succeeded in drawing their attention, I made them understand that I wanted to be pulled across in the little boat, which in ordinary times served as a ferry. A short consultation took place now on the opposite side, after which a soldier, who clearly possessed a strong voice, came as near as possible to the waterside and, making a trumpet of his two hands, roared:

"Not allowed!"

"Why not?"

"We are neutrals!"

"So am I; I am a Netherlander!"

"Possibly! Not allowed!"

And at the same moment he turned round and joined the others.

So I was left there. The Netherlanders refused to pull me across in consequence of an exaggerated fear of violating their neutrality; the Germans in front of me intended, it was said, to shoot me down as soon as I ventured to get near. But to retrace my steps ... that is a thing I had never done yet. For a few moments I stood there undecided, but then made up my mind to see what was going to happen, and went on, in spite of the warnings of the kind-hearted innkeeper and his family, who called out to me to return.

The terrible thunder of the guns, of both besiegers and besieged, vibrated through the air. In the distance I noticed a couple of men, probably German soldiers, but a pontoon-bridge was nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes, however, I reached a spot where the Meuse makes a short curve, and had scarcely walked round it, when I saw, only a couple of hundred yards away, the bridge in question, across which a long train of vehicles was passing, loaded with victuals, hay, straw, etc.

On this side hundreds of soldiers were standing; they had taken off their uniforms in the fierce heat, and were busy loading and unloading and changing horses. From time to time the entire scene was hidden by the smoke from numerous burning houses at Lixhe, quite near the river. I walked in the most casual way, in an unconcerned attitude, looked calmly at some of the houses I passed, and which were for the greater part destroyed. The walls were pierced by bullets, the rooms generally burnt out; in the front gardens lay all sorts of furniture, dragged out of the house and then smashed to pieces.

The road was all strewn with straw. I approached the bridge past burning farms and villas. There the pieces of broken furniture were even lying in the road, and I had to go warily so that I should not stumble. The soldiers looked at me as if they were amused, but I went up to them in the same unconcerned manner and asked them to take me to their commanding officer.

"What do you want with him?"

"I am a Netherland journalist, and want to ask the commander's permission to go to Liège."

"Oh, you are a Netherlander; then come along."

They took me to two officers who stood near the bridge, and told them that I "pretended" to be a Netherland journalist. Having proved this by my papers, the officers gave me an escort of three men, who conducted me to the bridge-commander, on the other side of the Meuse.

I had to walk along the very edge of the unstable bridge in order to avoid the wheels of the passing carriages, which shook the whole bridge and made the rather loose boards clatter. In the meantime, at no considerable distance, some shells fell in the Meuse, fired at the bridge from Fort Pontisse. Yet, I did not mind it at all, as all these new experiences stunned me, so to speak; the incessant hellish noises of the batteries, the burning houses, the smoke swooping down, the excited soldiers....

As we crossed the bridge, I asked my escort why these houses were set on fire. I heard then, for the first time, that "they had been shooting," and they told me of cowardly civilians, who shot from the windows at unsuspicious soldiers, or stabbed them treacherously. But of course they had experienced nothing of the kind; it had happened to troops who were now moving ahead. They had, however, taken part in the revenge, and told of it with glittering eyes: how they fired the houses of francs-tireurs and then shot the people who, nearly stifled, appeared at the windows; how in "holy" anger, in order to avenge their comrades, they subsequently entered the houses and destroyed everything. I did not answer, did not know what to think of it, but shuddered, because it was so gruesome.

They told this, while we were waiting on a couple of protruding boards of the pontoon-bridge, so as to allow some extremely wide carts to pass. Once again shells exploded, a couple of hundred yards behind us, and one made a hole in the bank quite near.

"Horrible!" I sighed. "Have they not yet hit the bridge?"

"Oh yes, it has been destroyed already a couple of times, but we shall teach them a lesson! Why did not the Belgians allow us to pass through their country? What can their little army do against us? As soon as a sufficient number have crossed we shall go for these forts, then on to Brussels, and within a fortnight we shall be in Paris. Liège we have taken already."

"It will cost a great many men!"

"We have plenty of them; but many of us fall by the treacherous shooting of the civilians; they are swine, swine! And these Belgian women ... they are the dirtiest bitches ... beastly swine...."

The man got more and more excited, but then he was more than "half-seas over." The smoke made him cough and he stuck in the middle of his "swine." He made me shudder, and I hastened to pull out a packet of cigarettes, some of which I gave to him and his mates. In consequence the two others became more communicative, and in touching harmony assured me that:

"Oh yes, the Netherlanders are our friends; they remain neutral. And that is the best, for otherwise the whole lot would be smashed up, exactly as here in Belgium."

They did not understand, of course, that poor Belgium would have liked nothing better than to remain neutral also.

Those wide carts had passed us now, and we could proceed slowly. The bridge led to a farmhouse with tall trees and underwood. They took me to the right, to a densely overgrown spot, where a clearing had been made amidst some smaller shrubs. In the centre stood a table covered with a shining white cloth, and a goodly number of wine-bottles and glasses. Half a dozen officers in fine uniforms, gilt collars and epaulettes, were seated around it.

The sight of that small group, hidden among the green foliage, was as brilliant as it was surprising. One of the officers, clearly the highest in rank, summoned us to come nearer, and asked the soldiers for an explanation. Standing smartly at attention, they gave it, as a school-child might haltingly recite a lesson learned by heart. The officer whom I thought it convenient to call "Captain" looked searchingly at me and then began:

"Have you got papers?"

"Yes, captain."

I pulled them out: birth certificate, certificate of good conduct, foreign passport, and press-card, which were examined the one after the other.

"Are they genuine?"

"Of course, captain; everything is properly signed, stamped, and legalised."

"And what do you want to write about?"

"I don't know yet. The things I see ... and ... of course that cannot do harm to the German army."

"Hm! Hm! All right. So you intend to write friendly about us?"

"Certainly, certainly, sir! Exactly because we hear so many lies from foreign countries about the Germans, I want to try and find out the truth for myself."

"Is that so? Well, the Netherlanders are our friends, and have so much in common with our people."

"Certainly, captain; as a matter of fact we are of the same race."

But here he looked at me in a curious manner, scrutinising my face, as if he asked himself: "Is he pulling my leg, or not?" But not a muscle in my face moved, so that the "Captain" nodded approvingly ... and wrote out a pass for me to go to Visé! I was not allowed to go to Liège, for, as he said, he did not yet know himself how matters stood there. The other officers overwhelmed me with questions: how matters stood in The Netherlands, and whether Great Britain had already declared war against us? I think that at that question I looked utterly perplexed, for in the same breath they told me all they knew about the danger of war for The Netherlands: Great Britain first sent an ultimatum to The Netherlands, to force her into joining the Allies against Germany, and as she had refused, the British Fleet was now on its way to Flushing. I explained to them in detail that they were utterly wrong, but they believed only a half of what I said.

There was a continuous coming and going at the bridge-command, for when I left the shrubberies a great many soldiers of high and low rank, with portfolios and documents, were waiting outside. The soldiers were to escort me back across the bridge, so that I might go on to Visé along the other bank.

Before I got to the bridge I saw something gruesome: a number of corpses of soldiers were lying about and others were brought in ... a little farther away, on the farm, there they were digging.... I looked away quickly; I was not yet accustomed to that sort of thing. Most likely they were men killed a moment ago by shells aimed at the bridge, for wounded men were also brought in on stretchers.

At the other end of the bridge I was left by my escort, and went on alone; on my left the Meuse, on my right burning houses, above me hissing and whistling shells, that came down in front of me and behind me, with tremendous explosions, throwing the loose earth high into the air.

In Devant-le-Pont, a hamlet opposite Visé, the doors of all the houses stood open, as a sign that the inhabitants did not propose to offer any resistance to the Germans. After much shouting the landlady of a café appeared, distressingly nervous, but doing her utmost to look unconcerned.

"A glass of beer, madame."

"If you please."

"The guns are horrid, madame; are you not afraid?"

"No, sir, we must hope for the best."

"Have the Germans done no harm here yet?"

"Oh no, sir, not at all!"

"Are they tolerably kind?"

"Oh, quite nice people, sir!"

Her reserve told me that I would not get much information here, and, finishing my beer, I asked:

"How much is it, madame?"

"This? Nothing, sir, nothing."

"Nothing! But, madame, I want to pay for what I drink!"

"No, no, I won't take anything for it. It is hot, is it not, and a soldier ought to get something...."

I understood only then why the woman was so full of praise of the Germans, although she was shaking in her shoes: she thought I was a soldier! How heavily weighed the oppressor's hand on the wretched population, if now already the honest Belgian heart became hypocritical!

I had great trouble to make her understand that I was a Netherlander; and that changed at once her opinion for the Germans. She told me then that her husband and children had fled to The Netherlands, as had most of the inhabitants, and that she was left behind merely because she dawdled too long. And now she was constantly afraid that they might fire her house as they did the others, and murder her ... for such had been the fate of several of the villagers. Even whole families had been killed.

Many civilians had been put to death, accused of having shot from the houses, and others for refusing to give up requisitioned food. Probably they had none, as preceding military divisions had already taken away all there was. Then some civilians were killed for refusing to work for the enemy. The houses of all these "condemned" had been burnt, and everything the soldiers fancied was looted. As a matter of fact, nearly all the soldiers I met later on were drunk, and they worried me constantly. Only when I had proved to be a Netherlander, they behaved a little better, and started abusing "the cursed Belgians," who, according to them, were all francs-tireurs.

A short distance beyond this little café lies the large bridge across the Meuse. Before the Germans arrived it was partly destroyed by the Belgians, but so inadequately that obviously the enemy could repair it easily. Bombs were therefore fired regularly from Fort Pontisse at the bridge, and only an hour ago it had been hit, with the result that a big hole was made in the undamaged part. In the road also big holes were made by the exploding projectiles. Having passed underneath the viaduct of the bridge, I found myself opposite Visé on the sloping bank of the Meuse. Two boys had been commanded by the Germans to work the ferry-boat for them, and after I had shown them my passport, they took me to the other side.

It was a fine summer afternoon, and the sun shone on the many bright, whitewashed walls of the old and neat little town, built close to the rapidly flowing river. There was quiet in the streets, although nearly all the inhabitants were sitting on their chairs in the streets. But nobody ventured to move about, and conversations were held only in whispers. As I walked through the village street in my quaint get-up, they pushed their chairs a little closer together as if frightened, and looked shyly at me as if they feared that I was not the harbinger of much good. And all these hundreds of people saluted me humbly, almost cringingly, which filled me with pity.

Visé had not been burnt yet, as had been reported in The Netherlands. Only here and there had the shells done some damage, and hundreds of window-panes had been burst by the vibration of the air. As a token of submission to the invader, small white flags hung from all the windows, and these, along the whole length of a street, made a decidedly lamentable impression.

The inhabitants had already had a variety of experiences. On Tuesday, August 4th, the first German troops arrived before the little town. The gendarmes stationed there offered resistance to the invading enemy, but, being hopelessly outnumbered, they were all shot down. As they were lying on the ground, badly wounded, Dr. Frits Goffin, head of St. Hadelin College, came in great haste as soon as he heard the shooting.

All the wounded were Roman Catholics, and as they saw the approaching priest, they implored him in a loud voice to give them absolution of sins, some making an act of contrition. The priest was unable to come near each of them, and therefore called out in a loud voice: "My Jesus, be merciful!" He then gave them all absolution of sins. But as he kneeled down to perform this sacred task, a hostile bullet whizzed past his ear, and several soldiers who ran by aimed at him, so that he had to seek safety behind a tree. I saw with my own eyes five bullet-holes in the tree that was pointed out to me.

In those first days many civilians were killed, and not only in Visé, but still more in the surrounding villages, Mouland and Berneaux, which were soon burnt down and where many a good man was brought low by the murderous bullets. The savage soldiers killed the cattle also, and a large number of carcases had been lying about for days.

At Visé many men had been commanded to do certain kinds of work, cutting down trees, making of roads, bridges, and so on. Many of them never returned, because they refused to do the humiliating work and were shot. Among these there were even aged people; and I myself stood by the death-bed of a man of ninety, who had been forced to assist in building a bridge, until the poor wretch broke down and was carried to St. Hadelin College, turned into a hospital by Dr. Goffin; there he died.

No wonder that the inhabitants were afraid and looked askance at me as they mistook me for a German.

On this day, August 8th, the reign of terror was still in full force. There were repeated threats to burn the town and to kill the inhabitants if they objected to do work or to deliver certain goods, especially wine and gin, of which thousands of bottles were requisitioned daily. Several times a day they were summoned by a bell and informed what the invader wanted, the necessary threats being added to the command. And the inhabitants, in mortal fear, no longer trusted each other, but searched each other's houses for things that might be delivered to satisfy the Germans.

The entire neighbourhood was still being bombarded from the forts to the north of Liège; several German divisions succeeded, however, in crossing the Meuse near Lixhe. In spite of the shell-fire they passed the pontoon-bridge there, turned into a by-way leading to the canal, near Haccourt, crossed one of the canal-bridges, of which not one had been destroyed, and along another by-way, came to the main road from Maastricht to Tongres, at a spot about three miles from the last-named town.

The shelling went on during the night, and all that time the inhabitants remained in their cellars.

Although I had got farther on my way than I had dared to expect, my journalist's heart longed for more. If I could get to Liège, which was said to have just been taken! But my passport stated that I was only allowed to go to Visé. I thought the matter out, and the longer I thought, the stronger became my desire to go on; and at last I decided to do it.

Near the outskirts of the town I found barricades which, however, seemed not to have been used, but stray shells had knocked large pieces out of the low, wide wall between the road and the Meuse's flowing water.

There was not much traffic. Only here and there stood some German soldiers, or seriously wounded men were lying on mattresses and chairs. Nearly every house by the roadside had been turned into an emergency hospital, for from all sides they brought in soldiers wounded by shells that had exploded amidst the advancing divisions.

The road along which I walked, the main road between Visé and Liège, was laid under fire from various forts, and every moment I saw on my left clouds rise up from the rocky heights that run along the whole of the Meuse. These clouds were partly formed by smoke from the guns mounted by the Germans against the forts, partly by volumes of earth thrown up by the projectiles from the broken-up soil.

I myself ran great risks too, but I did not mind, and walked on, moved by a consuming desire to get to Liège, and then back to Maastricht, to be able to wire to my paper that I had been to Liège only just after it was taken by the Germans, and that the news, wired from Germany to the Netherland papers, that the forts had been taken was untrue.

I had a short chat with the wounded men near the various houses, on demand showed my passport to those in authority, and was advised as a friendly Netherlander to return, as it was extremely dangerous on the road. But I did not dream of doing this, as long as I was not compelled, and went on towards Liège amidst this maddening thunder.

I had walked another three miles, when a big crowd of fugitives met me. They seemed to have come a long way, for the majority could hardly walk on, and had taken off their shoes and boots, on account of the scorching heat, going on barefooted in the shade of the tall trees. It was a procession, numbering hundreds of men, women, and children. The aged were supported, the babies carried. Most of them had a small parcel on their back or under their arm. They seemed tired to death, had dark red faces, and betrayed great fear and nervousness. I crossed the road to speak to them, and as soon as they noticed it the whole crowd, numbering hundreds of people, stood still, creeping closer together, women and girls trying hard to hide themselves behind the men, and these doffed their caps timidly.

I was really sorry that I had dressed myself in that grey Norfolk suit, long stockings, a knapsack strapped to the back, and a leather strap with a water-bottle. The unfortunate creatures thought that I was a German soldier. I was bewildered for a moment, but then guessed their thoughts and hastened to comfort them.

I could not get much information from them. Twenty spoke at the same time; in halting, incoherent words they tried to tell me of their experiences, but I could only catch: killed ... murders ... fire ... guns.... After much trouble I gathered that they came from the villages to the north of Liège, where the Germans had told them that on that same day, within an hour, everything would be burned down. Everybody had left these places, a good many had gone to Liège, but these people did not think it safe there either, and wanted to go on to The Netherlands.

After giving them some advice how to get to The Netherlands, and offering some words of sympathy, I wanted to go on, but as they realised this, the poor, kind creatures surrounded me; many women began to weep, and from all sides they cried:

"To Liège? You want to go to Liège? But, sir!—but, sir! We fled to escape death, because the Germans are going to burn down everything and shoot everybody. Please don't, sir; they'll kill you ... kill you ... shoot you ... kill you!"

"Come, come," I replied, touched by the kind anxiety of these people. "Come, come; it won't be as bad as all that, and, then, I am a Netherlander."

That "being a Netherlander" had become my stock-argument, and, as a matter of fact, it made me feel calmer. Quietly I made myself free of the surrounding crowd, in order to proceed on my way; but then they got hold of my arms and gently tried to induce me to go with them, so I had to speak more firmly to make them understand that they could not prevail on me. When at last I was able to resume my march, they looked back frequently, shaking their heads, and in their anxiety for me, their fellow-creature, they seemed to forget for a moment their own hardly bearable sorrows.

A moment later a gigantic motor-car came racing down at a great speed. Six soldiers stood up in it, their rifles pointed at me. I thought that they intended to shoot me and everybody they might meet, but a seventh soldier standing by the side of the chauffeur made a movement with his arms, from which I understood that he wanted me to put my hands up. I did so.

It is a simple affair, this putting up one's hands, but even at such a moment a free citizen has a strong objection against being compelled to this by others, who are no more than one's self, who ask it without any right, except the might derived from the weapon in their hands.

When they had passed, I looked round at the people I had left a moment ago.... There they lay in the road, kneeling, lifting their trembling hands, although the motor-car was already a couple of hundred yards away.

Argenteau was not damaged much, but the inhabitants remained quietly inside their houses, or probably stayed in their cellars, for fear of the shells that tore through the air constantly.

By and by I began to feel that I had already walked about twenty miles in this great heat, but I would not think of stopping before reaching my goal.

At Cherath railway-carriages were lying in the road at the level-crossing of Visé-Liège line, farther on barbed-wire cut into pieces, felled trees, and so on. German soldiers had moved these things out of the way, and motor-cars could pass by again. In the village itself I saw a man, with a white armlet, posting up a bill, and as I had seen similar damp bills sticking on the walls in the other villages, I drew nearer to read it.

The bill ran as follows:—

"Community of ...

"To the inhabitants.

"The powerful German army, victorious in our district, has promised to respect our land and private possessions.

"In the circumstances in which we are placed it is necessary to retain the greatest possible tranquillity and calm.

"The burgomaster informs the population that any utterance contrary to the regulations will be severely punished.

"The Burgomaster."

The bill-poster replied "yes" or "no" to my questions, whichever answer fitted, and as soon as he had finished his task he hurriedly trotted off. I did not see any other inhabitant.

Outside Cherath a motor-car stood between some partially removed trees. Two officers and three soldiers stood around a map which they had laid on the ground, and with them was a young girl, scarcely twenty years old. She was weeping, and pointed out something on the map, obviously compelled to give information. One of the officers stopped me, was clearly quite satisfied with my papers, but told me that I was not allowed to go on without a permit from the military command. Then I pulled out of my pocket, as if of great importance, the scrap of paper which the commanding officer at the bridge near Lixhe had given me. The other had scarcely seen the German letters and German stamp when he nodded his head approvingly, and quickly I put the thing back, so that he might not notice that I was allowed only to go to Visé.

At Jupile I saw a pontoon-bridge, not in use for the moment. Just before this place a slightly sloping road leads from the hills to the eastern bank of the Meuse and the main road Visé-Liège. Along this road descended at that moment an immense military force—uhlans, cuirassiers, infantry, more cuirassiers, artillery, munition and forage-carts. The train seemed endless, and although I stood there looking at it for quite a long time, the end had not passed me.

It was an imposing sight to see all these various divisions in their brilliant uniforms coming down along the road, the soldiers' uniforms still without a stain, the horses in new, fine, strong leather harness, and the rumbling and jolting guns. The soldiers sang patriotic songs, and among them rode the officers, proud and imperious, many with a monocle, looking round superciliously.

I was the only civilian in that road, and the soldiers, with much curiosity, stared at me. Whenever I noticed an officer, I gave an elaborate military salute, and with such an air that the officers, although hesitating at first, did not fail to return the salute.

After reaching the main road they turned to the right towards Visé, probably in order to try to cross the Meuse near Lixhe and then proceed to Tongres along the above-mentioned road. It would not be an easy undertaking, for the forts refused to keep silent, and already many a wounded man was carried on a comrade's horse.

Liège now loomed up in the distance, and the nearer I got, the more civilians I met. They all wore a white armlet, and walked timidly and nervously by the side of the road or street, starting at each thunder-clap of the guns. Near the entrance to the town a small crowd stood on one of the hills, looking at a flying-machine moving from fort to fort and over the city, obviously investigating the effect of the German siege-guns.

At seven o'clock in the evening I entered Liège; and so far I had achieved my end.

CHAPTER II
IN LIÈGE AND BACK TO MAASTRICHT

A GLORIOUS summer evening, quite refreshing after the exhausting heat of the day. Nature invited to restfulness, and so much the more cruel sounded the incessant thunder of the guns, which also boomed from the citadel. As soon as the Germans had taken possession of this old, dilapidated fortress they proceeded to drag their guns on to it, and trained them on the surrounding forts.

The streets offered the same aspect as those at Visé. From each house floated the pitiful little white flag; the people sat together on their "stoeps," for they did not venture out in the streets. Everywhere I was again saluted in the same cringingly polite manner, and eyed with suspicion.

Crowds of soldiers moved through the main streets, revelling, shouting, screaming in their mad frenzy of victors. They sat, or stood, or danced in the cafés, and the electrical pianos and organs had been started again "by order." Doors and windows were opened wide, and through the streets sounded forth the song "Deutschland über Alles" (Germany before all other), which affected the inhabitants as a provocation and a challenge. Oh! one could see so clearly how thousands of citizens suffered from it, how they felt hurt in their tenderest sentiments. Dull and depressed they stared in front of them, and whenever their set features relaxed, it was a scornful grin.

From warehouses and from shops bales of corn, flour, sugar, and other goods were taken, thrown in heaps and then placed on all sorts of carts and motors. In the most frequented parts military bands had taken their stand, and played amidst the loud jubilation of the soldiers.

I walked about a little longer to examine the damage done. The fine Pont des Arches was for the greater part destroyed by the retreating Belgians, as well as the Pont Maghin. This is a pity, especially as regards the first-named bridge, so famous as a work of art, and the more so as other bridges had not been touched and could be used by the Germans. The bombardment did not damage the town to any great extent, but it was remarkable that the largest houses had suffered most.

Having walked some thirty miles that day, I began to feel a serious need for rest. But when I applied, there was no room anywhere in the hotels, and where there was room they told me the contrary after a critical glance at my outfit.

I then tried to find the nunnery of the Sœurs de la Miséricorde, where one of my cousins had taken the veil. At last, in the Rue des Clarisses I found the huge door of the monastery, and rang the bell. After a few moments a small trellised shutter in the stout door was opened ajar, and a tremulous voice asked in French what I wanted. I assumed that it was one of the nuns, but I could see nothing through that narrow jar.

"Sister," I said, "I am a cousin of Sœur Eulalie, and should like to see her, to know how she is and take her greetings to her family in The Netherlands."

"Sœur Eulalie!... Sœur Eulalie!... You ... you ... are a ... cousin ... of ... Sœur Eulalie?"

The terrified little sister was unable to stammer anything more, and in great fear suddenly closed the little shutter again.

There I was left! After waiting a while I rang the bell once more, and once more the little shutter was opened in the same timid manner.

"Now, look here, sister, I am a cousin of Sœur...."

"No, no, sir, your cousin ... is not here."

Bang! The shutter was closed again. But I did not give it up, for I needed the sisters' assistance to find a shelter somewhere. Once more I made the bell to clang, and although I was kept waiting a little longer, at last I heard voices whispering behind the gate and once more something appeared behind the trellis.

"Sister," I said then, "if you will only ask Sœur Eulalie to come to this gate she will recognise me, of course?"

"She is your cousin, you say?"

"Certainly, sister. Tell her that Bart of Uncle Henry is here." Again I was switched off, but the communication was this time restored after a few moments, and then I heard a joyful and surprised exclamation:

"Oh! Bart, is it you?"

So at last the lock of the heavy door screeched, and I was admitted. I noticed that about a score of sisters had gathered behind the gate and were anxiously discussing the "strange occurrence." My meeting with Sœur Eulalie, however, was so cordial that the good nuns lost all anxiety, and I was taken inside accompanied by nearly all the inmates of the convent.

They first wanted me to explain what put it into my head to come to Liège, and how I had managed to get there; but as the sisters heard of my empty stomach and my thirty miles, they would not listen to another word before I had put myself round a good square meal.

In the meantime they themselves had a word or two to say about the fright I gave them; for when I stood at the door they mistook me in my sporting habit for a German officer, and the top of my water-bottle for the butt of a revolver!

The work of these sisters is the education of neglected children, and they spoke about their fears during the last momentous days. During the bombardment they stayed night and day with all those little ones in the heavily vaulted cellars of the nunnery, praying all the time before the Blessed Sacrament that had been removed from the chapel and taken into the cellar for safety.

They constantly heard the boom, boom of the shells exploding near by, and each time thought that their last hour had struck. The gloomy cellar depressed them still more, and nobody really believed that there was any chance of being saved. So the little sisters prayed on, preparing each other for death, and looking for the approaching end in quiet resignation.

For the moment all they knew was that the Germans were in the town, as none of them yet had ventured outside the building. At present their great fear was that Germans might be billeted on them.... Oh! they might take everything if only they did not come themselves.

When I left I got a lot of addresses of relations in The Netherlands, and undertook to send a postcard to each of these. They also gave me an introduction to the proprietor of an hotel whom they knew, in which they asked him to give me a bed; and thus armed I succeeded at last. It was high time too, for at nine o'clock everyone had to be at home. In the hotel everything was dark, for there was no gas in the town. At last I could lie down on my bed, and had a good rest, although I could not sleep a wink. I was too tired and had seen and experienced too much that day.

The next morning at six I was out and about again. I had not been able to get any breakfast, for the people themselves had nothing. The Germans had called at all the hotels and shops requisitioning everything in stock to feed the thousands who had invaded Liège like so many locusts. The inhabitants practically starved during those days, and carefully saved up bits of bread already as hard as bricks. It was a good thing that the night before I had eaten something at the nunnery, for although at a shop I offered first one, and later on two francs for a piece of bread, I could not get any.

All the forts thundered away again, and the guns of the Germans were also busy on the citadel and the various surrounding heights. Already early in the morning a terrible and suffocating smoke of fire and gunpowder hovered over Liège. The smoke came down also from the burning villages, like Bressoux, on the slopes of the hills near Liège. The flames flared up from the houses and offered a melancholy sight.

German officers told me, with full particulars, how the inhabitants of those burning villages had offered German soldiers poisoned cocoa, coffee, and cigarettes, for which crime three hundred civilians had been shot during the night in a Liège square.

As even high officers told me those things, not without some emotion, I began to believe them and wrote something about them to my paper. But what was made clear to me at a later visit! That there was not a word of truth in the whole story of that poisoning; that on that day and in that square no shooting had taken place; that a couple of days before the population had been ordered to leave their houses within two hours without any reason being given; and afterwards several houses had simply been burned down.

The Liège people were already up and about, and wandered through the streets full of fear, for all sorts of rumours were heard—that civilians were murdered, the town was to be burned down, and that a start would be made very soon. As they looked at those burning hamlets yonder they believed the rumours, and went nearly mad for fear; the men as well as the women could not help themselves, and wept. During the night various posters were stuck on the walls about military action. The following is the translation of one of these:—

"The municipal Government of Liège remind their fellow-citizens, and all staying within this city, that international law most strictly forbids civilians to commit hostilities against the German soldiers occupying the country.

"Every attack on German troops by others than the military in uniform not only exposes those who may be guilty to be shot summarily, but will also bring terrible consequences on leading citizens of Liège now detained in the citadel as hostages by the Commander of the German troops. These hostages are:—

"Bishop Rutten and Mr. Kleyer are allowed to leave the citadel for the present, but remain at the disposition of the German commanders as hostages.

"We beseech all residents in the municipality to guard the highest interests of all the inhabitants and of those who are hostages of the German Army, and not to commit any assault on the soldiers of this army.

"We remind the citizens that by order of the general commanding the German troops, those who have arms in their possession must deliver them immediately to the authorities at the Provincial Palace under penalty of being shot.

"The Acting Burgomaster,
"V. Henault.

"Liège,
"August 8th."

Fear reigned everywhere in the bustling streets; people shouted at each other that the villages burned already, that by and by they would start with the town, that all civilians would be killed, and other terrible things. The Germans looked at all this with cynical composure, and when I asked some of them what the truth was, they shrugged their shoulders, said that they knew nothing about it, but that it might be true, because all Belgians were swine who shot at the soldiers or poisoned them. All of them were furious because the Belgians did not allow them to march through their country.

Fugitives arrived from the surrounding villages, who also spoke of nothing but arson, destruction, and murder. They frightened the Liège population still more, hundreds of whom packed up some of their belongings and fled. They stumbled and fell across the barricades in the streets, blinded as they were by fear, and blinded also by the smoke which settled down on the city and polluted the air.

Matters stood so in Liège on the morning of August 9th, when the second day of the occupation by the Germans had not yet passed. The Belgian field army, which had bravely defended the ground under the protection of the forts, and inflicted heavy losses upon the Germans, had to retreat before their superior numbers, leaving the further defence of the Meuse to the forts. But a high price had been paid for Liège, for the German losses were immense, and on the ninth they were still busy burying their dead. The Germans lost many men, especially near Lixhe and the Forts Bachon and Fleron.

At that moment the possession of Liège was of little advantage to the Germans, as on this 9th of August the Belgians still held all the forts. This was the most important news that I was about to send to The Netherlands, for when I left the Netherland newspapers had published the news wired from Berlin that all the forts had fallen.

But the Germans were efficient, for during the night they had laid down the rails on which in the morning they transported parts of the heavy ordnance that would demolish all the Belgian defences.

A few minutes after I left the town a scene drew my attention. A lady stood there with a little girl; the lady seemed to urge the child to do something to which it objected. She refused to take a bag full of various small parcels pressed upon her, and clutched hold of the lady's skirts. I wanted to know what was the matter, got a little nearer, and was amazed to hear them both speak Netherland. I could not help asking what the trouble was and whether I might be of service.

"No, no, sir," the lady said. "Oh, oh, it is so terrible! By and by the Germans will burn Liège and kill us all. She is the little daughter of my brother at Maastricht, and came to visit us a few days before war broke out, but now she will be killed too, for she refuses to go away."

"But, madame, you do not mean to send that child to Maastricht by itself?"

"It must be done, surely, it must be done! That is her only chance of escape, and if she stops here she will be killed with the rest of us. Oh!... oh!..."

"But really, madame, that is only senseless gossip of the people. You need not be afraid, the Germans will not be so cruel as all that!"

"Not? Oh! they are sure to do it. All the villages are burning already. The smoke suffocates us here. In Bressoux there is not a house left standing, and in other villages all civilians have been killed, men, women, and children. Not even the tiniest babies escaped.... Oh!... and now it is Liège's turn!"

I knew about Bressoux. I had seen the flames burst out from many houses, and I had reliable information also from other villages about the slaughter that took place there, although this lady of course exaggerated when she said that "not even the tiniest babies escaped."

Need I say that I did all I could to make the woman a little more reasonable, and make her understand that it would not do to let a child of ten walk by itself from Liège to Maastricht, and least of all in these dire times. But I could not make her see this, and this instance proves all the more, perhaps, how upset the inhabitants of Liège were that morning; they were nearly out of their senses for fear.

Of course I did not allow the little girl to go by herself, but took her with me. It was a wearying expedition in the excessive heat of that day. Very soon the child was no longer able to carry her small belongings, and, though already sufficiently loaded myself, I had to take her bundle as well. She was scarcely able to walk more than a thousand yards at a stretch, and had then to sit down on the grass by the roadside and rest. She did not quite understand what was going on, but she had an undefined feeling of fear on that long, deserted road, where we did not meet anybody except some well-hidden or stealthily moving German patrols who suddenly pointed their rifles at us.

After the explanations required of us they allowed us to go on. The incessant roar of the guns made the girl tremble for fear, and the stinging smoke made her cough. After much trouble we got at last as far as Herstal, where I had promised her a short rest.

This fine large village, actually a suburb of Liège, was quite deserted, not a living being was to be seen. I entered shops and cafés, called at the top of my voice, but got no reply anywhere. I was inclined to believe that everybody had fled. And they would have been quite right too, for huge columns of smoke rose up from the heights around the place, four or five in a row, after a booming and rolling peal like thunder had seemed to rend the sky.

The German artillery had taken up their positions here, and bombarded the forts in their immediate neighbourhood. These did not fail to answer, and rained shells on the enemy's batteries. One heard their hissing, which came nearer and nearer, until they fell on the slopes or the tops of the hills and burst with a terrific explosion. Many a time we saw this happen only a few hundred yards away. Then the air trembled, and I felt as if my legs were blown from underneath me. Broken windows too fell clattering on the "stoeps."

We entered another café, and once more I shouted for the inhabitants at the top of my voice. At last I heard a feeble sound somewhere in the hall, which I entered, but as I saw no one there, I called out once more. Then I heard distinctly, and knew whence the answer came. I opened a door, behind which stairs led to the cellar, and from there I was at last able to speak to some of the Herstal people. I heard that all of them stayed in their cellars for fear of the bombardment.

My request to allow the child to stay at the café for half an hour was granted, and I went through the village towards the place whence the German batteries sent their destructive fire. At last I got as far as the top of a hill, from which I could see two forts shrouded in a cloud of smoke, which was also the case with the German batteries.

I could not stop there long, for I was actually within range. I saw a number of shells explode and twice hit a farmhouse, which was destroyed for the greater part. So I returned as quickly as possible to my little protégée, and went on with her, following the road as far as the canal, and then along this to Maastricht.

On one of the hills, slightly to the south of Haccourt, on the west bank of the Meuse and the canal, a German battery was firing at Fort Pontisse. The gunners there were quite kind, and they felt no fear at all, for although they shelled the fort continuously, it seemed that nothing was done by way of reply to their fire. The shells from the fort flew hissing over our heads, in the direction of Lixhe, which proved that Fort Pontisse was still chiefly busy with the pontoon-bridge at that place.

Until now we had walked along the right bank of the canal, until we crossed one of the many bridges. The little girl was well-nigh exhausted; from time to time I gave her a rest, and then again I carried her a part of the way.

A good many soldiers were lying round about the high cement factory of Haccourt. The factory itself seemed to be used as a station for observations, for suddenly a voice roared from a top window: "Stop those people!" And we were stopped and taken to a small table where three officers were sitting drinking wine. The colonel asked for my papers, which he did not consider sufficient, as I had no passport from some German military authority. So I drew out again the bridge-commander's scrap of paper which said that I was permitted to go from Lixhe to Visé.

"Is this then the road to Visé?"

"No, sir, I am returning from there."

"Where then is Visé?"

"That way, sir!"

"That way? But how did you get here then?"

"You see, sir, the bridge across the Meuse has been destroyed, and in order to get back I had to walk first towards ... towards ... Liège ... and ... and ... and then they ferried me over somewhere down there, and told me that I had to go along the canal to get to Maastricht."

"Is that so? Well, it is not very clear! And that little girl?"

"That is a Netherland girl, sir, who was staying at her aunt's at Liège ... I mean to say at Visé, and whom I take now with me to Maastricht."

The officer went on shaking his head at my answers, and I felt as if this might be the end of my fine little adventure. But I could not tell him that I had gone to Liège with that permit for Visé!

At Fort Pontisse or Lierce they seemed to have noticed that the factory was a station for observation. As the officer was still thinking about my case, one of those infernal monster shells crashed down among a group of soldiers, only some yards away. Those who were not hit ran away, but they came back soon, and took up seven or eight comrades, whom they carried into the factory. I shuddered when I saw what had happened, and through the shock the sight gave me I involuntarily jerked my arms.

"Stand still!" the officer thundered.

He looked for a moment at the spot where the deaths happened, from which the victims were carried away, and then suddenly asked in a kinder tone of voice:

"Is there any further news about the war in The Netherlands?"

I saw that I must take advantage of his changed mood and his curiosity, and I hastened to reply:

"Yes, that the French are advancing towards Liège, and that the British have landed in Belgium."

"What?"

"It is as I tell you!"

"But are you sure? Where are the French now, and where did the British land?"

"Well, all the Netherland papers have extensive official reports about it. The French are now at Namur and the British landed troops at Ostend...."

"Wait! wait! wait!"

Quickly he summoned an orderly and gave some orders, and a few minutes later four more officers drew round the table, on which a large map of Belgium was displayed. Their tone became at once charmingly sweet and kind, and a soldier offered me some lemonade from small bottles kept cool in a basin filled with cold water.

I did not feel very comfortable after what had happened to those soldiers who lost their lives so cruelly sudden, or in any case had been seriously wounded, while the officers took little notice of them. But it was desirable to behave as discreetly as possible, and so to get a permit to Maastricht.

I had to repeat everything about the advance of the French and the landing of the British, whilst they followed my story on the map. But I was soon in a cold sweat, for of course I knew practically nothing, neither of the French nor of the British, and each time when one of the officers pressed for details I was in mortal fear that I might contradict myself. But I stuck to my guns until the end, and assured them that the French had crossed the Belgian frontier near Givet, and were now near Namur, whereas the British, disembarking at Ostend, had advanced as far as Ghent.

As soon as they had got all the information they required, the commanding officer ordered a patrol of cyclists of six men to leave their kit and rifles behind, but to take a Browning, and deliver a rapidly written letter at Liège.

They were now very friendly, and spoke even with great kindliness about the Netherlanders in general. They let me proceed also on my way to Maastricht, giving me their best wishes.

My little protégée was, however, soon very tired and complained that her feet ached. I had to carry her for nearly a mile and a half before we arrived at the Netherland Custom House, where I left her behind, as she was now safe. I went on to Maastricht alone, wired to my paper, and then saw the worried, but soon extremely happy parents of the little girl. They went at once to the Netherland frontier to take their child home.

I had succeeded. I had been in Liège, the first foreign journalist who got there after her fall, and was able to contradict the numerous reports about the conquest of the forts which had made the round of the newspapers for several days.

CHAPTER III
ROUND ABOUT LIÈGE

During the fights round the forts I made a good many tours and was able to contradict several German reports about alleged successes. The atrocities in the villages around Liège did not cease, and constantly fresh crowds of refugees came to Maastricht.

In order to examine once more the state of affairs around Liège, I decided to pay another visit to that town.

Starting in the early morning of August 15th, I arrived at Visé without much trouble, after having been led across the Lixhe bridge once more. Since my first visit the bridge had been destroyed three times over, and this new one seemed very weak. As I stood there looking at it, a motor lorry had to cross it, and the bridge gave way near the bank. Another motor had then to pull the lorry up to the top of the bank, and this made the bridge give way still further.

For the rest the transports were not much troubled now, for obviously the bridge was no longer the objective of the Belgian guns. At Visé I was even told that Fort Pontisse had just been taken and only Lierce could harass the troops, who, after crossing the bridge, advanced towards Tongeren.

Many things had happened at Visé since my first visit. Under the pretext that the church spire could indicate to Fort Pontisse in which direction to shoot, paraffin had been poured over church and spire and fire set to them. It was a venerable ancient structure, built ten centuries ago, the fine stained windows of which were well known.

The inhabitants looked upon the church as a special sanctuary, as the bones of St. Hadelin were kept there. Before the fire these relics had been removed to the vicarage secretly, and then to St. Hadelin College, the only large building that escaped the general destruction next day.

Immediately after the church was set on fire, the dean was arrested, as well as the burgomaster and five reverend sisters. These last-mentioned had been in prison a fortnight, when at last the Germans discovered that the little sisters were of German nationality. The Very Reverend Dean had been treated very badly during his captivity.

There was dire want in the little town, for the Germans had been requisitioning everything until there was nothing left. And as during the first days of the war all traffic had been stopped, it was impossible to bring in fresh supplies. The pieces of bread the people still had were like bricks, and several days old; and yet I could not get any of it.

But the German troops had ample provisions for themselves, and as an officer noticed that I went all over the town to find some food in one of the restaurants, he offered me, the "friendly" Netherlander, something to eat at the Guard House. This I declined, however, for I could not have enjoyed bread taken from the starving population.

There was still a real reign of terror, and constantly the town-crier's bell was heard in the streets, informing the people that the victors required something or other. Only a few days ago it was announced that all bicycles had to be delivered at the bridge within twenty-four hours. Any person who after that time was found in possession of such a vehicle would be shot, and his house burned down. With similar threats all arms were requisitioned, but with the explicit addition that this referred also to old, and broken arms, or those which had been taken to pieces. Eatables and drinkables were also constantly claimed under threats of arson.

From Visé I went again across the Meuse to the road along the canal. Nearing Haccourt, I noticed that Fort Pontisse was actually silent, but Lierce still in full action. The Germans had mounted long-range guns on the hills between Lancey and Haccourt, whence they could place Fort Lierce under fire. A German officer, after some coaxing, allowed me to witness the operations for a short time. I found a place near some heavy guns, and sat down amid some underwood. The shooting from Lierce was very fierce, but only by the plumes of smoke could I tell whereabouts the fort might be. The shells came down near us, but during the half hour of my stop not one made a hit. They all fell short of us.

It was a cruel sight. At a tolerably quick pace hundreds of soldiers marched out in the direction of the fort, dragging light ordnance with them. One of the officers explained to me that the big guns could not yet operate here; and now a division of foot-artillery was commanded to occupy a small hill near the fort. The big guns had to support them on the way. The guns roared as if all the thunderbolts of heaven had been flung into space. The smoke of the powder poisoned the air and made me cough. Gradually my surroundings were enveloped in a thin haze, which became denser and more suffocating the longer the guns roared. And at last those hundreds of men, dragging their guns along the byways, looked merely like shades.

For quite a quarter of an hour they seemed to proceed successfully, as obviously not one shell exploded in their neighbourhood. But suddenly all along their line dark masses several yards high rose up. This was the effect of numerous exceedingly well-aimed shells on the dry, loose sand. Soon the men were surrounded by those thick clouds of dust, and only during the first few minutes I saw here and there one of those shades in human form tumble down, evidently hit by one of the projectiles. Then I saw nothing for a long while, excepting the thick wall of dust, which seemed to remain standing up, for constantly the shells threw up anew the earth that had only just fallen down.

The dust-wall extended gradually as the distance grew covered by the Germans in their flight to their former positions. But at last we saw the first men emerge in complete disorder from that driving cloud. Some on the right, others on the left, here and there also small groups which courageously dragged their guns with them, as they saved themselves from that infernal downpour.

Five minutes later the smoke had disappeared almost, and I was able to see what had happened on the field in front of me. Terrible! On all sides lay scattered the lads, who but a short time ago started with so much enthusiasm, and here and there a gun knocked over, five, six corpses lying around it.

In front of me, behind me, on all sides, the guns boomed, clouds of dust and smoke filled the air, making it impossible to see much, which made the awe and terror endurable; but after the air became clear again, and the sun shed glowing light on the beautiful fields, it was terrible to think that all those dots in the plain were the bodies of young men, cruelly crushed by the infernal products of human ingenuity. It was agony to see here and there a body rising up, merely to fall down again immediately, or an arm waving as if invoking help.

And by my side stood officers and soldiers raging and cursing. To them came the returning men, blood running along their faces from insignificant wounds, and they bawled and bellowed, and thundered with a thousand curses that they wanted to go back and try again. How ghastly they rolled their eyes in frenzied excitement! Some pointing at me asked the officer who I was, and he explained. Then I had to listen to endless imprecations against the civilian population of Belgium, who, according to them, consisted entirely of francs-tireurs, who all of them deserved to be shot, and to have their houses burned down. To repeat the coarse words which they sputtered out in their rage would only cause disgust.

The officer assured me that a new effort would be made soon, as they were commanded to take Pontisse and Lierce at any price, the seventh and ninth regiment of foot-artillery of Cologne being selected for the purpose.

I did not want to witness that second attack, and, after thanking the officer, resumed my journey along the canal-road to Liège.

Near Herstal the Germans were crossing by the large bridge, which the Belgians had preserved to their own disadvantage.

In Liège things were no longer so depressing as at the time of my first visit. There was some traffic in the streets, and by order of the German authorities the shops had been reopened.

In a meadow east of the city I saw three big guns mounted, the biggest I had seen as yet. They kept up a continuous and powerful cannonade at the forts near the town, that had not yet been taken. There were three of them left, of which Loncin was the most important.

A little farther away they were still busy with Lierce, but excepting these four, all the forts were now taken by the Germans. I stood there for a moment, gazing at these cannon, the presence of which was clearly unknown to the Belgians, for their artillery took no notice of them. Only the day before these guns had started shelling the forts, and on the evening of August 15th they had silenced two of them; but Loncin kept up the fight.

During the evening I was granted an audience by the Right Reverend Monseigneur Rutten, Bishop of Liège. The venerable, aged prelate received me very affably, but he was deeply impressed by the terrible fate that had overwhelmed his poor native country. He himself had suffered exceedingly bad treatment at the hands of the Germans. First he and the other hostages were imprisoned in the citadel, where he was locked up in a small shanty, with a leaking roof, so that the torrential rain entered it freely. Wet and cold, the Bishop passed that day without being offered any food, and, as stated above, was at last allowed to go home.

He told me a good many other instances of ill-treatment, but as I gave him my word of honour not to mention them, my mouth is sealed. He himself was visited a few days later by the German commanding general, who offered his apologies.

That same evening many more houses were burned down, more particularly in Outre-Meuse, although no valid reason was given for that.

The next day, Sunday, August 16th, I was already about at five o'clock in the morning, and soon witnessed some historical shots. In the park on one of the boulevards the Germans had been digging for two days, and prepared a firm foundation upon which big guns might be mounted. I saw one of these guns that morning, and at about half-past five three shots were fired from it at short intervals, by which Fort Loncin was completely destroyed, as was indicated by the terrific explosions which followed the third shot. After these shots I was quite benumbed for several minutes; in all the streets of Liège they caused the greatest commotion, which became all the greater because large numbers of cavalry happened to ride through the town, and all the horses started rearing.

Was the gun I had seen there one of the notorious forty-two centimetre monsters? I should not like to wager my head in affirming that. It was an inordinately unwieldy and heavy piece of ordnance, but during the first days of the war nothing or very little had yet been said or written about these forty-two's, and I did not pay sufficient attention to the one I saw. Only after the fall of Loncin did all those articles about the forty-two's appear in the papers, and the Germans certainly asserted that they destroyed Loncin by means of such a cannon.

But it is equally certain that at Liège as well as at Namur and Antwerp the Austrian thirty-point-five mortars were used, siege-guns chiefly, and these were taken by the German soldiers for forty-two's. These Austrian mortars were equally misnamed in German, French, and even Netherland illustrated papers.

However, the effect of these Austrian mortars was terrible enough. I could not form a correct opinion about them by the sound of the shot; and only those who were in the fort that was hit were able to realise the terrific results. Hence the interest of the report by an officer, who escaped after having been made a prisoner at Loncin. He told my colleague of De Tijd at Antwerp about it. After having related how, during nearly ten days, the fort had been defended heroically and resolutely, he gave the following description of the final struggle:—

"On August 14th, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, the expected storm burst; for twenty-five hours the invisible siege-guns poured their torrent of projectiles on the fort. Flares of fire and dense clouds of smoke belched through the crevices. As the enemy's batteries could not be located, their fire could not be answered. The artillerists of the garrison were then taken to the spacious chief gallery, which offered a safe refuge under its vault, about two and a half to three yards thick. Outside the sentries were watching. In the parts near the entrance it was unendurable; the heavy projectiles from the guns mounted in the town had nibbled away the outer wall, only a yard and a half thick. There were as yet no casualties among the garrison; calmly they waited for the infernal tempest to subside and the enemy to storm the fort, for they had sworn to repulse the assault.

"General Leman, Commander Naessens, and all the officers were splendid in their imperturbable courage. They found the words that went straight to the hearts of their men. These fellows looked more like bronze statues than human beings. The projectiles hammered at the walls and smashed huge pieces, penetrating into the parts near the entrance. The rest of the fort withstood splendidly the hurricane of hostile steel and fire. During the night the bombardment stopped, and then the commanding officer went to inspect the cupolas.

"The larger ones had suffered little; but the majority were jammed by fragments of concrete and steel, which struck between the armour and the front-armour. The small quick-fire cupolas had not been touched by any projectile. 'It is all right,' he said, 'we shall be able to repulse the enemy's attack.'

"At dawn the bombardment started again, but only the front was seriously damaged. The garrison stood as firm as a rock. Here and there the beginnings of a fire were soon extinguished.

"Then a frightful thing happened. The men had finished breakfast, some were sleeping quietly in spite of the thundering noise. The assault was expected to commence during the next night.

"And then the disaster followed suddenly. At about five o'clock a tremendous explosion shook the fort to the foundations; the powder-magazine had caught fire. It is impossible to describe the appalling results of that explosion; the entire middle-part of the fort collapsed in a stupendous cloud of flames, smoke and dust; it was an awful destruction, an immense avalanche of masses of concrete, fragments of armour, which in their fall crushed to death nearly the whole of the garrison. From this fantastical, confused mass, overwhelming clouds of suffocating smoke escaped through some crevices and holes.

"After this infernal rumble, deadly silence followed, interrupted only by the groans of the wounded. The German artillery ceased to fire, and from all sides their infantry came rushing on, their faces expressing the terror caused by such great calamities. They were no longer soldiers longing to destroy, but human beings hurrying to go to the assistance of other human beings.

"German sappers and other military men cleared away the dead and the wounded. They also discovered General Leman, whose orderlies, who had a miraculous escape from death, were already busy in rescuing him from underneath the ruins.

"They were all unrecognisable, their faces were black from smoke, their uniforms in rags, their hands covered with blood. The general was put on a stretcher, and carried outside the fort across the heaps of obstacles; there he was attended to by a surgeon. He had lost consciousness. As soon as he recovered it, he pressed the hands of two Belgian officers. 'It is all over; there is nothing left to defend. But we did our utmost courageously.'

"A German officer came nearer, and, uncovering his head, said in a voice trembling with emotion: 'General, what you performed is admirable!' Evidently these words slightly comforted the defender of Liège, who before long was removed by motor-car to an ambulance in the town."

Such was the end of Fort Loncin, and by its fall the last obstacle was removed by which the undisturbed progress of the German armies might have been prevented. The brave defenders of Loncin did not surrender, but stood their ground until they were buried under the ruins of their own defences. According to information from another source, Lierce had succumbed the night before.

Early next morning I walked through the streets of Liège, dull and depressed, deploring the fact that such clumsy, heavy iron monsters had been able to crush this stout defence and such men. As I reached the Place du Marché, there arrived three hundred disarmed Belgian warriors, escorted by a strong German force. They stopped in the square, and soon hundreds of the people of Liège crowded around them. They were the defenders of Fort Pontisse.

Men and women tried to break through the German cordon, but were repulsed roughly. So they threw fruit, cigars, and cigarettes at them. The lads looked gratefully at their compatriots, but for the rest stared in front of them in dismal depression. Once and again a name was called, as a relative or friend was recognised. Some shed tears.

Whether neutral or foreigner, no one could help being deeply moved. Men and women, boys and girls, pressed once more through the German fence, just to shake hands with someone they had recognised. No wailing followed, but when hands were gripped, with a suppressed sob, they said:

"Bear up, lad! Keep courage; it will soon be different."

And the answer was:

"We did our utmost to the last, but it was impossible to go on."

I could not help myself, but also pressed through the Germans, as I wanted to exchange a few words with the Belgians. This was possible for a very few moments only, in which they told me that they had been firing night and day in order to harass the Germans who crossed the river, but they had to yield at the end, when the Germans put Belgian civilians in front of themselves when attacking the fort.

I was roughly pushed back by the German soldiers twice over. I broke through only to be repulsed again. They got into difficulties with the huge crowd, who pushed through on all sides, bought up the stock of surrounding shops, and threw chocolates and other sweets, cigars and cigarettes, at their boys. Then a bugle sounded, and the Belgians once more were arrayed in files. They calmly lighted their cigarettes, and as the order "march" was given, they took off their caps, waved them through the air, and, turning to the Liège crowd, exclaimed: "Vive la Belgique." Then hundreds of caps, hats, and arms were waved in response, the air resounding the cry: "Vive la Belgique. Au revoir! Au revoir!"

As I felt myself one with the population, I uncovered my head and enthusiastically joined in the cry: "Au revoir! Au revoir!"

When I was half way between Liège and the Netherland frontier, I noticed that the village of Vivignes was burning in various places. It is a beautiful spot, quite concealed between the green trees on the slope of the hills, west of the canal. And the finest and largest farms were exactly those ablaze. The fire crackled fiercely, roofs came down with a crash and a thud. Not a living being could be seen. From the windows of the burning houses small white flags hung, and they too were one by one destroyed by the fire. I counted forty-five farms that were burning, destroyed by the raging flames.

In a café, lower down, near the canal I saw a number of German soldiers, and was successful in having a chat with the inn-keeper, at the farthest corner of the bar. I asked him, of course, what they meant by burning the village, and he told me that the Germans had made a number of unsuccessful attacks on Fort Pontisse, until at last they reduced it to silence. They were now so near that they could open the final assault. They were afraid, however, of some ambush, or underground mine, and the Friday before they had collected the population, whom they forced to march in front of them. When they had got quite near they dared not enter it yet, and drove the priest and twelve of the principal villagers before them. That is how Pontisse was conquered.

Later on I heard the same story from several other inhabitants.

The people had been in deadly terror, and women and old men, fearing that they would be killed, had fallen on their knees beseeching the soldiers to spare them. At present many women and old men, and even strong men, were laid up with violent feverish attacks of nerves.

Only because these wretched people had not promptly obeyed the order of the military to march against the fort in front of the soldiers, Vivignes had been punished, and that morning over forty of the best houses had been set on fire.

I shuddered at the thought that in these days such barbarities were possible. I asked the soldiers whether I was allowed to enter the burning village, but the commanding sergeant refused his consent.

I also asked the inn-keeper whether he felt no fear in those surroundings. But, shrugging his shoulders, he answered: "All we can do is to wait quietly. I do all in my power to keep them in a good temper, give them beer and cigars, and yesterday killed one of my two cows for them. I may have lost everything at the end of the war, ... but even so, let it be, if I can only save the life of my family and keep a roof over my head. But my anxiety is great enough, for, you understand, I have two daughters ... and ... and...."

We had got near the door of the room that stood ajar, and from there came the sound of a couple of girls' voices: "Hail, Mary.... Hail, Mary...."

The frightened maidens were saying their rosary.

The news, that all the forts had now been taken was quickly communicated to the surrounding military posts, and in consequence the soldiers were in a wanton mood. Most of the houses which I passed had their doors and windows smashed and broken, but the most provoking was that soldiers had compelled the people in the cafés along the canal to open their pianos and make their musical automatons play. To the tunes of these instruments they danced, yelling and shouting. No greater contrast was imaginable than that between such scenes and the burning village with the frightened inhabitants around it.

Near Haccourt, by the bank of the Meuse, I noticed a terrible glare of fire and dense smoke. It was an alarming sight, and made me fear the direst things. I considered for a moment whether I should go there or not, fearing that I had already taxed my nerves too much. Yet, I made up my mind to go, and by a side-way got to the Meuse, near Visé. German engineers were busy here laying telephone wires, and an officer stopped me, threatening me with his revolver. It was obvious that they were no longer accustomed to see civilians on that road. After having examined my passport and seeing that I was a Netherland journalist, he became very friendly, and politely urged me not to go farther.

"Why not, sir?" I asked.

"Well, there is a huge fire yonder; everything is burning!"

"How did that come about?"

"Well, it seems that the civilians cannot understand that only soldiers may fight soldiers, and for that reason the whole place has been set on fire."

"Devant-le-Pont?"

"No, Visé."

"Visé? Do you mean to say, sir, that the whole of Visé has been set on fire?"

"Certainly!"

"But ... but ...! May I go there?"

"I must advise you not to, for it is extremely dangerous, but if you like...."

"Very well, sir, then I shall go there!"

CHAPTER IV
VISÉ DESTROYED: A PREMEDITATED CRIME

One of the first things I have to deal with is also one of the most fearful I ever saw, and I only hope that I may never again witness the like of it.

I have mentioned already the reign of terror with which the Germans ruled the wretched townlet ever since they entered it. Something fateful might happen any moment, and actually occurred during the night of August 15th and 16th.

On that evening the soldiers, rough fellows from East Prussia, had been revelling in the cafés, shouting filthy ditties in the streets, and most of them in a very advanced state of intoxication. At ten o'clock suddenly a shot was heard. The fellows took their rifles, which they had placed against the walls, or on the tables of the cafés, and ran into the street shouting in a mad rage: "They have been shooting!" The most tipsy began to shoot at doors and windows simultaneously in various parts of the town, which made the people in the houses scream, and this excited the mad drunken soldiers all the more. They forced their way into several houses, knocking down the frightened inhabitants when these tried to stop them.

It is stated that some of the wretched people were even pinioned and beaten. Their assailants then stumbled up the stairs and began to shoot wildly from the upper stories into the dark streets, where their own raving comrades were rushing about like madmen. Some civilians who in great fear had come to their front door to see what was happening were shot down.

After this game had been going on for some time, the order was given: "Everybody must come outside." Doors and windows were forced open and broken, and men, women, and children driven out of the houses. They were at once ruthlessly separated. Men who assisted their aged mothers, or carried their little babies, were taken away from their families, and driven away, leaving their wailing and weeping wives and children behind, while the flames from burning houses threw a lurid light on the sad scenes of that terrible evening.

The poor wretches, who expected to be killed at any moment, were driven into squares or the meadows, where they were exposed to the chilly night air, so that several babies perished. Only the next morning were the women and children allowed to leave—that is to say, they were told to take the shortest way to Maastricht.

A number of the men were taken to Germany, the others were kept as prisoners in the neighbourhood, and by and by had to suffer the shame of being compelled to work for the enemy. Amongst them were men who had never done any manual work, such as an aged notary public.

Even a doctor of the Red Cross established at St. Hadelin College had been removed in his white overall and wearing his Red Cross armlet. This was Dr. Labye, who already had rendered signal services to the wounded Germans. In consequence of his detention twenty of them were left in the hospital without medical attendance....

During the night only a few houses were burnt down; the general destruction followed the next morning, Sunday, August 16th, and just as I reached the little town the flames were raging all over the place in a fierce blaze.

I shall never forget that sight. The Meuse separated me from the raging blaze on the opposite bank. The flames roared violently, roofs and rafters and walls crashed down, and the wood of living trees was burning and screeching loudly. I saw but a sea of fire, one glaring glow, and the air was scorchingly hot. A light breeze blew through the place, and made clouds of smoke to whirl through the streets like avalanches of snow. The view down the longer streets leading straight from the hill-tops to the Meuse was very fantastic.

The wind seemed to play with the smoke, rolling dense volumes down the slopes which dispersed only when they reached the bank along the river. Whilst the flames soared high up from the roofs, the walls of the houses stood still erect, and everywhere in the windows one saw those miserable little white flags, symbols of submission, mute prayers that submission should be rewarded by sparing the life and possession of the inhabitants....

I stood near the spot where the ferry-boat used to take people across; but to cross was now out of the question, for any one alighting on the opposite side would be landed in the scorching glare. Therefore, I returned to Lixhe, where I might try to cross the river by the pontoon-bridge, and get to Visé along the other bank of the Meuse.

On the way I was stopped by two soldiers, one of whom examined my papers, and, finding that I was a journalist, revealed himself as a colleague, in ordinary times editor of the Kölnische Zeitung. He shook both my hands quite excitedly, glad to meet a colleague, and, better still, one from the "friendly" Netherlands.

I had to listen to a prolonged hymn of praise of the Netherlanders, who were such sensible people, and the best friends of the Germans; protestations which did not interest me in the least at that moment. On the contrary, it struck me as deplorable that this man did not say a single word of his own accord about the horrible thing happening close by: the destruction of an entire community! He did not seem to attach any importance to it....

As soon as the "friendly" Netherlander thought that he had swallowed sufficient praise, I began to ask questions about the meaning of that wanton devastation, and why it was inflicted on the population! Before answering, he looked round in a casual manner, as if thinking: "Oh, it's that bit of fire you refer to!" And then exploded in a string of imprecations against the population.

It is a lamentable sign that this German, probably well educated, had not taken the slightest trouble to find out the reason for this wholesale wrecking of a town, that the whole affair impressed him so little. "Somebody" had said that those cursed civilians had been shooting, that explained it to his satisfaction, and gave him ample cause for coarse abuse of the wretched people.

How many soldiers had fallen in consequence of this attack by francs-tireurs he knew not; which troops had witnessed the occurrence he could not say. All he did know was that these troops had left in the morning, leaving a small force behind to impose the punishment.

The bridge-command at the pontoon-bridge near Lixhe allowed me to cross, after requesting me very pressingly to make very clear what swine these Belgians were, who fired so treacherously at unsuspecting soldiers, put out the eyes of the wounded, cut off their hands and genitals. When I asked where all these things had happened, the answer was: "Everywhere!" Of course, I promised them to do everything they wanted.

Very large divisions marched from Visé to the pontoon bridge in the direction of Tongres. After the Liège forts had been taken the bridge might be passed in perfect safety. All day long troops came along that road without interruption. I could quite see that the soldiers who were at Visé the previous day, and brought about the conflagration, were gone, for they had left their traces behind. All along the road lay parts of bicycles, shoes, instruments, toys, and so on, everything new and evidently looted from the shops. Very valuable things were among them, everything crushed and smashed by the cavalry horses, the clumsy munition and forage waggons, or the heavy wheels of the guns.

A little farther on a few houses were left undamaged, because they stood outside the town proper. A woman who had remained in her house stood outside with cigar-boxes under her arm. She offered cigars from an open box to the soldiers of the passing divisions. To me she seemed to be out of her mind, as she stood there trembling, her face distorted from hypernervousness. Her cringing kindness was of no avail, for I noticed a couple of days afterwards that her house too had been totally destroyed.

On the first houses of the town large bills had been stuck, intimating that they were a Netherlander's property, but obviously that had not impressed the tipsy soldiers to any extent, for they had been wrecked all the same for the greater part.

The whole town was like a sea of fire. The Germans, who are nothing if not thorough, even in the matter of arson, had worked out their scheme in great detail. In most houses they had poured some benzine or paraffin on the floor, put a lighted match to it, and thrown a small black disc, the size of a farthing, on the burning spot, and then immediately the flames flared up with incredible fury. I do not know the constituents of this particular product of "Kultur."

Nor did I see any inhabitants in the burning town. It was practically impossible to stay in the streets; burning walls and roofs and gutters crashed down with a great noise, so that the streets were as much on fire as the houses themselves. Only at the crossings were any soldiers to be seen, who, in various stages of intoxication, constantly aimed at the burning houses, and shot everything that tried to escape from the burning stables and barns: pigs, horses, cows, dogs, and so on.

Suddenly I saw a boy about twelve years old in one of the burning streets. He waved his arms, rushed madly to and fro, calling for his father and mother, and his little brother and sisters. He was in danger of perishing in the fire, or being killed by the murderous bullet from a rifle. I ran after him, laid hold of him, and in spite of his resistance pulled him back. Fortunately I met a couple of kind, sober soldiers to whom I told the story, and who promised to send the boy away from the burning town.

Shortly afterwards I met a Netherland Red Cross motor-car. The male nurses, who had met me already on former occasions during the war, recognised me, rushed up to me, and forced me to come with them to the car. Here they tried to explain with a torrential flow of words that I exposed myself to the greatest danger by coming here, as nearly all the soldiers were drunk, shot at every civilian, and so on.

They insisted upon my staying near the car, and be a little safer under the protection of the Red Cross. They told me how they had to drag an old woman out of her house, who refused to come with them, and in her despair shouted nothing but: "Let me die!—let me die!"

I could not say or do anything, for I felt as if stunned, and let them lead me where they liked; so they gave me a glass of claret, and that revived me.

A few moments after they went away I went also, and entered the burning town once more. A Netherland family lived in Villa Rustica, and I had promised to make inquiries about them.

As I stood there looking at the ruins of what was once so fine a house, a small group of refugees approached, carrying as usual their miserable parcels in which they had hurriedly collected the things that had the least value. As they saw me they shuddered and shivered and crept closer together. Most of them wept and sobbed, and their faces were twisting nervously.

I went up to them and explained that there was no need at all to be afraid of me. They were able to give me news of the inhabitants of Villa Rustica. The owner had died a few days since, from a paralytic stroke, brought on by the emotions caused by the German horrors, whereas madame, who had heroically intervened on behalf of some victims, was probably at St. Hadelin College.

My poor informants had not yet made up their mind where to go, fearing that they might not be permitted to enter The Netherlands as they were without means of subsistence. I assured them, however, that our conception of neighbourly love and charity was different, and that they would be hospitably received.

I showed them the way to Eysden, and they had scarcely started when a cavalry patrol came racing on, the men tipsy and their seat rather unstable. Seeing the refugees, they aimed their rifles at them and roared "Hands up!" The poor creatures not only put up their hands, but fell on their knees, and muttered incoherent words. The women folded their hands, and stretched them out to the cavalry, as if praying for mercy. The soldiers looked at the scene for a moment, burst out in a harsh laughter, spurred on their horses, and raced on without a word. Two of them stopped near me. I gave them, however, no time for threats, but quickly showed them the old pass to Visé. As soon as they saw the German writing they said: "All right!" and went off.

I came now to the eastern boundary of the town, whence the streets slope gently towards the bank of the Meuse. Here I had an atrociously fantastic view of the burning mass of houses. I fell in with a crowd of dead-drunk soldiers, who first handed my papers on from the one to the other, but as soon as they understood that I was a Netherlander they showed no hostility.

They sang and shouted and waved their arms. Most of them carried bottles full of liquor, which they put to their mouths frequently, smashed them on the ground, or handed them to their comrades, when unable to drink any more themselves. Each of a troop of cavalry had a bottle of pickles, and enjoyed them immensely.

Other soldiers kept on running into the burning houses, carrying out vases, pictures, plate, or small pieces of furniture. They smashed everything on the cobbles and then returned to wreck more things that would have been destroyed by the fire all the same. It was a revelry of drunken vandalism. They seemed mad, and even risked being burned alive at this work of destruction. Most of the officers were also tipsy; not one of them was saluted by the soldiers.

The beastly scenes which I witnessed in the glaring, scorching heat benumbed me, and I looked on vacantly for a long time. At last I went back and called at St. Hadelin College, the Head of which I had visited already once or twice. The building was still undamaged.

As soon as the Reverend Head, Dr. Frits Goffin, saw me he burst out sobbing, and, taking me by the hand, speechless, he pressed it a long time. I myself also was quite dumb. At length he muttered:

"Could you ever have thought ... that ... that ... such ... a cruel ... fate would overwhelm us? What crime did these poor people commit? Have we not given all we had? Have we not strictly obeyed their commands? Have we not done more than they asked for? Have we not charitably nursed their wounded in this House? Oh! they profess deep gratitude to me. But ... why then? There is nothing left in the House for the aged refugees whom we admitted, for the soldiers we nurse; our doctor has been made a prisoner and taken away, and we are without medical help. This is nothing for the Sisters and myself, but all these unfortunate creatures ... they must have food...."

The excellent man went on weeping, and I was not able to console him and did not know what to say. He took my arm, and led me to the large common hall, where twenty wounded Germans lay, who had been hit in the fight for the forts. He went to one bed after the other, and, with tears in his eyes, asked each man how he felt, and inquired, "Are you ... properly ... cared for ... here? Are you?" The sick men turned round, their eyes beamed, and they stammered words full of gratitude. Others said nothing, but took the Head's hand and pressed it long and warmly.

The wounded civilians had been put up in the small schoolrooms. Some of them must soon die. Some had burns, but most of them were hit the previous night during the mad outbreak, the mad shooting of the drunken and riotous Germans. In another room a number of old women were crowded together, who had to fly but could not walk all the way to the Netherland frontier.

Near each staircase stood a blackboard on which the Germans had written that to go upstairs was prohibited under penalty of death. The Head explained that the Germans alleged that light signals had been given from the top storey.

Two South-American boys, about twelve years old, had stayed on and heroically assisted the Head at his charitable work. Dr. Goffin was not allowed to take anybody with him except these two children in his search for the wounded, and to bury the dead. It is scarcely credible how courageously these boys of such tender age behaved. Later the Chilean ambassador made inquiries about them and asked for their portraits.

I also met there a compatriot, who had got permission to go to The Netherlands, but declined to leave. She was Mrs. de Villers, née Borret. On August 27th I wrote about her to De Tijd:—

"Four days ago her husband was buried. As he was addressing the League of Old-Retraitants at Cherath he was seized by a paralytic stroke, which proved fatal. She has no longer a home, beautiful Villa Rustica being completely burnt out, and now in ruins. But she refuses to return to The Netherlands, as she is still able to be of service to the people here.

"In Cherath she saved the life of a good many. As it was alleged that there had been shooting, the priest, the chaplain, a retired priest, eighty years old, the mayor, and several leading citizens were condemned to be shot. None, not even the priest, was able to defend himself, as they knew not a word of German, and could not make themselves understood. Mrs. de Villers, who speaks German fluently, explained that the spot where the shooting was alleged to have taken place was not part of Cherath at all.

"So this brave lady succeeded in getting the sentence of death withdrawn. But the Germans wanted to torture their wretched prisoners on any or no plea. They were placed near the church wall, kept standing there all night, were told that they would be shot by and by, and threatened by the soldiers with their bayonets.

"In the morning sixty soldiers escorted them out of the village to the hamlet Wandre, where the populace was told they would be shot. Should one shot be fired by one of the inhabitants—thus Mrs. de Villers was told—the prisoners would be shot out of hand; if not, they would be released at Wandre. Mrs. de Villers had, of course, secretly warned the inhabitants in time.

"She hopes to be able to render further services to the populace, thanks to her knowledge of German, and stays on, occupying her time with charitable work. A respectful salute is due to this courageous compatriot."

On the same day I wrote as follows about Dr. Goffin:—

"His face, unshaven since ever so long, is quite emaciated, and presents all the symptoms of nervous exhaustion. Once more twenty German soldiers are being nursed in his college, where only once a German doctor came to see them. He (Dr. Goffin) and a couple of Sisters have to manage everything by themselves, and the Germans do not even dream of providing food for their own wounded, although the college is so inadequately provisioned that the Head and the Sisters have to deny themselves the necessary nourishment that they may feed the wounded.

"And how are they thanked for it?

"The Reverend Head has been notified already ten times that he would be shot, and he is frequently being arrested for alleged shooting from the building. This shooting is actually done by German soldiers alone, who are loafing and looting, as I myself noticed a short time ago. The Head took me to a room where an old man of ninety, who had just received the extreme unction, lay dying. By his side sat a broken-hearted little old woman, his wife. This old man had been taken prisoner with other men of Visé, and forced to work at a new bridge. The poor fellow broke down under the strain; it cost him his life."

I left burning Visé deeply impressed by the savage scenes I had witnessed: men turned into beasts by drink, passion, and anger, doing all manner of wrong to the wretched inhabitants; but the impression became deeper by the great contrast: the perfect, charitable devotion of a virtuous priest, a courageous lady, and ever kind and commiserate Sisters. Never have I experienced so many emotions in one day as at Visé.

After taking warm leave of the Head of St. Hadelin College, I continued my walk to the Netherland frontier.

I was scarcely outside the townlet when I met another little group of refugees, probably all members of one family. The mother was being supported by her daughters, all wept, and nervous exhaustion made them totter as they walked. Every moment the mother looked back pitifully at the conflagration which devoured all around, including her slender property, for which she had worked so many years.

From the other side came two soldiers, one of whom she recognised, as he had been billeted on her. Constantly weeping, her face distorted, she sent another glance towards that fiery blaze, looked at the soldier as if reprovingly, hesitated a moment, but then pressed the enemy's hand, sobbing: "Adieu!—adieu!"

Sometimes I felt as if I were dreaming and wanted to call myself back from this nightmare to another, better, and real world. And I thought constantly of the man who, by one word, had given the order for these murders, this arson; the man who severed husbands and fathers, wives and mothers, and children, who caused so many innocent people to be shot, who destroyed the results of many, many years of strict economy and strenuous industry.

The first acquaintance whom I met on Netherland territory was a Netherland lady married to a Walloon, who kept a large café at Visé. Before the destruction she had asked me, full of anxiety, whether the Germans would indeed carry out their threat and wreck everything. I had comforted her, and answered that I did not think them capable of doing such a thing. Weeping, she came to me, and reminded me of my words. The whole business, in which these young people had invested their slender capital, had been wrecked.

CHAPTER V
FRANCS-TIREURS?

I THINK that there is no better occasion to deal with the question whether there was a franc-tireur-guerilla in Belgium than after the chapter on the destruction of Visé.

My opinion on the matter is still the same as when I first wrote about it to De Tijd, and in Vrij België; and from my own personal knowledge and after mixing with the people I consider the allegation that the Belgians acted as francs-tireurs an absolute lie.

Some uphold the accusation on the ground of expressions in Belgian newspapers, collected in a German pamphlet. In my opinion these quotations have not the slightest value. Everyone will understand this who thinks of the excitement of journalists, whose country was suddenly and quite unexpectedly involved in a terrible war, and who felt now that as journalists they had to perform a great, patriotic duty. In their nervous, over-excited condition they sat at their desk and listened to the gossip of refugees about civilians taking part in the struggle. In their imagination they saw hordes of barbarians overrun their native soil, saw man and man, woman and woman, shoulder to shoulder, resisting the invader without regard for their own life. The thoughts of such journalists, whose very own country had been at war now for a few days, were not on severe logical lines; they found a certain beauty in that picture, and I can quite understand how some came to believe in it as a reality, and gloried in it.

That is not evidence however, for how did they get the information? From my own experience I make bold to say with the greatest confidence that these reports came from German sources only, whereas there was not any ground for them.

I have witnessed all the people during the very earliest days of the war. I came to Liège, passing between the forts, as described already. I was in Lixhe when the pontoon bridge was wrecked repeatedly by Fort Pontisse; I stayed at Visé three times before the destruction began, and I was there when the charming townlet was wrecked by fire; and in Louvain I have been dragged from my bed by six soldiers and arrested, when the whole town was still ablaze.

Very well, I have:

But they were always German officers and no others who talked about francs-tireurs, and at Visé, Liège, Dinant, Bilsen, and particularly at Louvain, they constantly pressed me and tried to make me promise that I should write to De Tijd about francs-tireurs and justify the devastations. These stories emanated from the officers and permeated the rank and file; and the men grew fearfully angry with the Belgians, whom they cursed and abused. It also made the soldiers terribly afraid of francs-tireurs, and I noticed many a time that some loud sound from a falling wall, for example, made a whole troop of soldiers jump up, lay hold of their rifles, and hide themselves in an absolute "blue funk." The mere noise made them curse and rage and talk of nothing but burning houses.

In the end these stories of the soldiers convinced even the inhabitants that there had been francs-tireurs, but never in the place where they lived, always somewhere else. They could not believe that the Germans could be so cruel and wreck so much property if nothing at all had happened; and when at length the time came that they themselves were obliged to fly, many of them believed that their compatriots who elsewhere acted as francs-tireurs were to blame for all the dire calamities. But if they had had my opportunity to go "elsewhere" and gather information there, they would have been convinced of the untruth, and probably would have heard the name of their own village as the scene of the occurrence. That was how rumours and reports got about.

Many soldiers, probably most of them, were undoubtedly of good faith, and believed what they related; but the damnable notion had been put into their heads by their superiors. That is why I do not consider it impossible that some places were wrecked on account of alleged acts by francs-tireurs.

I have explained already in the chapter "Round about Liège" that I myself was duped occasionally, for example, by the story of the three hundred civilians who had been shot. To my mind these violent acts at the beginning of the war were part and parcel of the system of frightfulness, by which the Germans tried to scare the population and indirectly the hostile armies, at the same time rousing their own soldiers to anger and fury.

That mad fury was also intensified considerably by the accusations about gruesome mutilations committed on German soldiers by Belgians, who were said to have cut off the noses, ears, genitals, and so on of their enemies. These rumours were so persistent that in the end it was generally believed in neutral countries that these things had happened frequently.

No little astonishment was therefore created by an interview which I published with Dr. van der Goot of The Hague, who did so much excellent work in the Red Cross Hospital at Maastricht. He also had come to believe all these stories, and as everybody always mentioned a large hospital in Aix-la-Chapelle, which was said to be full of similarly mutilated soldiers, Dr. van der Goot went to that town to see for himself. The chief medical officer of that hospital in a conversation stated that not one single case of that sort had been treated in his institution nor in any of the other local hospitals where he was a visiting physician. At a meeting of the medical circle just lately held he had not heard one word, nor had any one colleague, about the treatment of similar cases.

In Louvain I was myself arrested, because a more than half-drunk soldier had accused me of spying and arson! There too I had to listen to all sorts of abuse because I was a franc-tireur. And in spite of all this they tried to extract a promise from me to write against the francs-tireurs!

The history of the destruction of Visé affords also interesting support to my opinion, as previously expressed, that the violent actions of the Germans took place according to a fully thought-out design.

During the early days of the war the papers published a report, of German origin, that Visé had been destroyed because francs-tireurs had appeared. I was therefore not a little amazed when, arriving there on August 8th, I found the townlet entirely undamaged, and even the German military admitted that they had not heard a word about francs-tireurs.

But the inhabitants were treated even then in a most vexatious manner, and on August 14th (the destruction came about on the 16th) I wrote to De Tijd (No. 20457):—

"Visé is under a real reign of terror. The day before yesterday the town-crier walked the streets with his bell, and announced that within twenty-four hours everyone had to deliver his bicycle at the bridge. Anyone in whose house a bicycle should be found would be shot and his house set on fire. Yesterday morning the Germans announced once more that all arms, including those that were old or damaged or taken to pieces, should be handed in at the town-hall within an hour. If any arms should be found anywhere after that, they would shoot the inhabitants and burn down the town. Eatables and drinkables were requisitioned continuously under threats of firing the town, and the inhabitants are afraid of nothing so much as of the possibility that something may be required some day or other that cannot be produced."

Even before that, on August 11th I sent a communication, by post or cable (De Tijd, No. 20353), in which the following is found:—

"In and round about Visé people sleep in their cellars, as they are threatened frequently that the town will be set on fire."

Anyone who, like myself, has been able to see in what frame of mind the people were during the first days of the German occupation, cannot believe it possible that they would even think of taking up arms. They lived in an unending terror, tried to forestall the invader's demands, and, if anything was requisitioned, they searched each other's houses to see whether anything was kept back and all the demanded bottles of gin or claret were forthcoming. There was not one who did not keep his door open as widely as possible to prove his complete submissiveness, and to let the Germans enter his house at any time to check what was to be found there. Every moment I saw men or women run into the street offering cigars to the soldiers from open boxes, smiling nervously and desperately, trying to behave as unconcernedly as possible. During those early days payment for refreshments was accepted hardly anywhere, and people often refused to accept money from me, because they mistook me for a German.

Men and young women in the prime of life sat whole days in a chair, or lay abed, because in the most literal sense of the word they were unable to stand on their feet for fear and terror, caused by the incessant menaces.

And during these first days of the war I had not met a single person who was able to settle down quietly in the existing circumstances, not a single person in whom anger and fury subdued fear and terror.

Is it thinkable that persons in that frame of mind would take up arms and invite the enemy's revenge upon themselves and those near and dear to them, a revenge of which they were so mortally afraid?

And supposing for a moment that the allegations made by the Germans were true, that there had been shooting at Visé for example, then one might perhaps consider the revenge justifiable, but should also expect that they would punish with a heavy heart, conscious that they were inflicting a necessary evil.

Of a heavy heart, however, there was not a trace. In the previous chapter I described how beastly they behaved during the destruction of Visé; how the soldiers drank immoderate quantities of alcohol, and then jeered at the wretched refugees; how they indulged in unmitigated vandalism, and wrecked by hand things of which they knew that by and by would be destroyed by fire.

Children and old people perished in consequence of the cruel heartlessness of the Germans, and in St. Hadelin College they robbed their own wounded of medical help and surgical appliances.

This happened not only at Visé, but also at other places which I visited, more especially at Louvain. And those who read the following chapters carefully will find sufficient support for my opinion, that Belgium is innocent of the base charges and allegations uttered by Germany, which country soiled its conscience still worse, first by plunging the little kingdom into the direst misery, and then by accusing it falsely of crimes which it never committed.

CHAPTER VI
WITH THE FLEMINGS

Between my tours through the Liège district I made a trip in the direction of Tongres, because I wanted to know what had become of all those Germans who had crossed the Meuse near Lixhe. It was remarkable to notice how friendly the Flemings of that district behaved with regard to the Germans. Although they criticised the violation of the country's neutrality sharply, and every family was proud of the sons who had taken up arms in defence of their Fatherland, yet they judged quite kindly the German soldiers who passed through their district. I often heard expressions full of pity toward those men, who could not help themselves, but were compelled to do whatever their superiors commanded them.

The Germans did themselves great injury undoubtedly by their vulgar and barbarous demeanour, for that lost them every claim on the sympathy of the people.

They behaved tolerably well during the first few days after the occupation of Tongres; but that did not last long, and soon they began here also to commit atrocious acts of terrorism. One evening at about the middle of August several civilians were killed, a dozen houses along the road to Maastricht were fired, and in the town the windows of several shops smashed, which was followed by general looting. That lost them whatever sympathy they might have met with in the district.

On August 12th I came for the first time to Tongres. They had been there only a few days, and only near the town-hall did I see a goodly number of the garrison. Many wounded were brought there, and carried in through the door under the outside stairway. They came from Haelen, where a battle was being fought that afternoon and for which they had left in the morning. For the attack on the entrenched Belgians they had used cavalry exclusively, who were simply mowed down by the murderous fire from the hidden mitrailleuses and the infantry fire from the trenches. The Germans suffered a great reverse, and were deeply embittered.

Just outside Tongres I met a fleet of Red Cross cars loaded with wounded. Cavalry escorted them. I was stopped and ordered to go back, as they expected the Belgians to attack Tongres.

I thought the result of the battle of Haelen rather important, and should have liked to have wired it immediately to my paper. Until now I had always gone on foot, that being the only conveyance which the Germans could not seize. But this time I preferred a bicycle, as the only way to get to The Netherlands on that same day. So I tried at a couple of bicycle-shops to get a second-hand one for love and money. At the first shop I asked:—

"I suppose, madame, that you have an old 'bike' to sell?"

She looked me up and down suspiciously, and then said:

"No, I've none to sell."

I did not fare better at the next. There the answer was:

"I refuse to sell 'bikes' to Germans."

"But, madame, I am not German; I am a Netherlander. I should...."

"I can hear quite well that you are German, and if you were a Netherlander you would not venture on a bike at this moment. If you come here to seize my bikes, I'll deliver them, for I cannot do anything against that, but I refuse to sell them of my own free-will."

The dear lady rapped it out in such a decided tone of voice that I desisted. I told my trouble to the proprietor of a café where I took a glass of beer; he, examining my papers, placed confidence in me, and got me a rickety thing, for which I paid twenty-two francs.

After all, this was better than walking, so I decided to make a small detour, go once more to Liège, and see how the forts were. I lost my way in a maze of by-roads, and got at last back to the main road near Jupille, where I met a patrol of Uhlans, who came in my direction at a trot.

Already from a distance with much fuss they signalled to me to stop, and of course I obeyed at once. Two men dismounted, came to me in a perfect rage, and, without asking who I was or what I was doing, cut my tyres to pieces in several places; they abused me with wild gesticulations and threats, jumped on their horses, and rode off. I dragged my wretched vehicle with its stabbed tyres a little distance, but then met a second patrol, who showed still greater indignation, and destroyed it altogether.

For the rest of the journey I used my only remaining means of transport, my legs, and after a walk of some hours got to the frontier of The Netherlands near Oud-Vroenhoven. A Netherland custom-house officer asked for my papers, and I showed him my huge passport. The man looked at the sheet critically, and made out that I could not possibly be a Netherlander, as I was the holder of a "foreign" passport.

My "foreign" passport was, of course, in French, of which language the man evidently knew not a word. Although I explained that this passport was the best one could get in The Netherlands, that I had paid six guilders and seventy-five cents for it, that I was a war-correspondent of De Tijd, it was all useless. I had to go with him to the guard-house, and the man kept the queer passport—the damning piece of evidence—firmly in his hand. All the inquisitive loafers, of which the frontier was full during those days, followed me, and so we went in procession to the guard-house, at some distance from the frontier. I heard all sorts of discussions behind me, and constantly caught words like: German, boche, deserter, franc-tireur, spy, and other complimentary niceties.

As soon as I had entered the guard-house a soldier, rifle in hand, mounted guard. The custom-house officer handed my French passport to a lieutenant, who scrutinised it closely. Then followed the examination:

"You are a journalist?"

"Yes, sir."

"On which paper?"

"De Tijd, sir; here is my press-card."

"Where is De Tijd printed?"

"In Amsterdam...."

"In which street?"

"Well ...! The Nieuwe Zijds Voorburgwal."

"All right; you may go!"

Having pushed my way through the loafers, who stood waiting before the house, I was able to continue my journey to Maastricht.

A few days later I had to go to Canne, a Belgian hamlet near the frontier, south of Maastricht. In the evening of August 18th an atrociously barbarous crime had been committed there, a cool-blooded murder. At Canne live some good, kind Flemings, who would not hurt a fly. The kind-hearted burgomaster had, moreover, tried for days to comfort his fellow-citizens, and was for ever saying:

"Leave everything to me; I'll invite them to have a glass of wine with me, and you will see then that they are kind people."

This he had done. Already for many days he had treated several officers to his best claret.

Tuesday night, August 18th, at about 11 o'clock, a train of luggage carts passed through Canne, and in the village the Browning of one of the soldiers in the last van went off suddenly. This was the signal for all Germans to start shooting indiscriminately, anywhere, at anything, happily without hitting anybody. A few tipsy soldiers went to the burgomaster's house, and no sooner had his wife opened the door for the barbarians, when a shot was fired, the bullet passing through the unfortunate lady's head into the wall opposite the door. I was there early the next morning and saw the hole. It is evident that the soldiers ill-treated the dead lady with their rifles in a horrible manner, for a large part of the wall was spattered over with blood.

After having murdered the burgomaster's wife, the villains attacked a guest, Mr. Derricks, a lawyer, and member of the Provincial States, whom they killed with a bayonet. His wife broke a leg when she tried to fly to the cellar.

Mr. Derricks lived at Roelanche, but with his wife and seven children had fled for security to Canne, where he was hospitably received in Mr. Poswick's, the burgomaster's, house.

When I got to the house everything was in a frightful state. A pair of curtains showed traces of fire; cupboards had been emptied, and nearly all the china and glass broken; statuary lay broken on the floor; windows were smashed; bits of bricks and plaster from the ceilings, through which many shots had been fired, completed the scene of destruction. On the doorstep I picked up a cartridge-case, which I have always kept, because it is highly probable that it had contained the bullet which killed Mrs. Poswick.

This terrible tragedy took place at scarcely six yards from the Netherland frontier, for the burgomaster's house stands by a road half Belgian and half Netherland. The Netherland soldiers who were doing frontier-duty on the latter part had to fly from the mad shooting of the Germans. They hid behind a wall that was quickly full of bullet-holes. The German soldiers spent a considerable time guzzling the burgomaster's wine, which they looted, and afterwards went off in the direction of Tongres.

It was stated later on that the German authorities punished the culprits and had them executed at Aix-la-Chapelle; De Tijd of August 31st, 1914, also reported it. But the action of these soldiers was not worse than that of generals who had entire cities destroyed and civilians killed by the hundred, but were always screened by the German Government.

On Thursday, August 20th, I decided to go once more in the direction of Tongres. As the Germans had picketed the main road along the Netherland frontier, I made a detour and dragged my bicycle across the mountain near Petit Laney, a very trying job in the stifling heat. From the mountain top I had a beautiful vista, which enabled me to see that near Riemst a large German force was encamped at which I desired to have a look. So I walked down the hill to Canne, where some crofters were trying to get their cattle into The Netherlands. These poor creatures, who usually own two or three head of cattle, had been compelled already to give up half of their stock. From Canne I cut through corn and beetroot fields to the road to Riemst. The first German sentinels were tolerably friendly.

"Ah, so you are a Netherlander, aren't you? Then we are friends. The Netherlands remains neutral, does she not? What news have you from there; are you already at war with Britain?"

These and similar questions were asked after a superficial examination of my papers, and, having answered them, I was allowed to go on. But at a certain moment an officer appeared, who summoned me to dismount, and asked for my papers. After a short examination he ordered a soldier to take me to the commanding officer at Riemst.

The attitude of all the soldiers changed immediately; they looked at me with angry eyes, and from time to time I heard hostile remarks. Whenever I did not walk quickly enough or turned a little to the right or the left, my escort pulled me roughly by the arm. All the same I took the case as coolly as possible, fully convinced that the commanding officer would release me after a superficial examination.

At Riemst, the soldier took, or rather pummelled me into a large farm-house, and soon I faced the bigwigs, who had made themselves as comfortable as possible in a large room. Several pictures and engravings lay on the ground in pieces, whilst numerous full and empty wine-bottles indicated that they had abundantly worshipped at the shrine of Bacchus, and intended to go on with the cult. The higher officers and the subalterns seemed to be frantically busy; at least they had violent discussions with many gesticulations over a map. The soldier reported that he had brought me here by order of Lieutenant Such—I did not catch the name—and then it began:

"Who are you?"

"I am...."

"What do you want here—what are you here for?"

"I am a Netherland jour...."

"What! A Netherlander? I suppose you come to see how many troops are here, don't you? And then...."

"Please be good enough to have a look at my papers, and then...."

"Papers? Papers? Yes, of course you all have papers; all those villains who shot at our men at Visé come back from The Netherlands with papers, in order to start afresh. Later on I'll have a look at that stuff. Here, lock him up for the present."

He pointed to a couple of soldiers, and they laid hold of me. They took me to a small room, where I was astonished to find two soldiers with revolvers guarding a priest and a peasant. As soon as the door was closed behind me I wished to chat with my fellow-prisoners, for even in prison I was not oblivious of my journalistic duties. But they seemed not at all anxious to have anything to do with me, and I soon understood the reason why. At each question they threw timid glances at the two watch-dogs, and I saw that fear of these made them withhold all information. However, after a good deal of trouble I got to know that the priest was the parish priest, and his companion in misery the burgomaster. They had been taken as hostages, and would suffer punishment for acts the villagers might eventually commit against the German usurpers. I contented myself with this, as I felt that in the circumstances further questions might make things awkward for these two men.

What might happen next? Sitting on a chair in a corner of the room I began to consider my position. For the moment it was not agreeable, but by and by those officers might find time to look at my papers. The only thing I bothered about was a map marked with the places where, according to the latest news, the German and French armies were. I kept it in an inside coat-pocket, and it might be found if they should search me.

I spent three hours in the small room with my silent companions. At last I was called, and appeared once more before the casual court-martial.

"Very well, now give me those papers."

Having got them, several officers examined my credentials, and their faces showed that the horizon was a little clearer for me.

"Oh, you are a journalist? And what came you here for?"

"Well, sir, I wanted to follow, as far as the German Authorities desire to allow it, the movements of the German armies, in order to give reliable information to the Netherland public, who take a great interest in your progress."

"Indeed! And did you take notes already? Just let me have a look."

The turn things took now was not quite to my liking, and I did not feel very safe when I handed him my scribbling-pad.

"I cannot read a word of it! Can you read it at all yourself? Yes? Oh, but I cannot understand it. Translate some of it."

That was a relief! I began to translate, taking the liberties to which every translator is entitled. And I succeeded in making a favourable impression by censoring my own manuscript.

"Well, that is right enough. But, mind, don't say in your paper that you found troops here, and especially avoid telling which troops."

"Very well, sir."

"Nor must you tell them that we detained you here. That was really not our intention at all, but just now we had no time to examine your papers."

"All right, sir."

"And what is the news in The Netherlands about the war?"

"Well, sir, not much beyond what you are sure to know already: that Japan declared war against Germany; that the Russians invaded Germany; that the French gained some important victories in Alsace; that the German fleet lost some ships...."

"Oh, bosh! Stop it! These are, of course, all lies from Reuter; they did not come from Wolff. Japan is not going to declare war against us; much rather against Russia!"

"Oh, but, sir, Wolff confirmed these reports."

"Oh no! That is impossible, and, after all, we are not afraid of Japan either. You had better write in your paper that we are not afraid of anything excepting Montenegro. And you may also inform your readers that it is better for Netherlanders not to cross the frontier, as we are going to apply much stricter measures. For we have evidence that those people from Visé and other villages who fled to The Netherlands are returning with forged papers, in order to shoot at us. And now you may go, but back to Maastricht at once."

"But will you then please give me a pass, otherwise I may be detained again on my way back."

"Oh yes! You may have that!"

And the commanding officer gave me a pass, on which this very same colonel who had prohibited me to write in my paper what troops were at Riemst, put a stamp on that pass, which contained the German eagle, and besides this the words: "Royal Prussian 8, Reserve Infantry Regiment, II Battalion." This confirmed what the rumours said, that the troops who had passed through Visé and other places during the last days and committed those atrocities there, were the reserves which had been called up, among whom discipline is less strict than among the younger men, who arrived in these districts during the earlier days.

Although I had been commanded to return "at once" to Maastricht, I succeeded in having a chat here and there with the inhabitants of Riemst. I had visited the village about eight days ago, but what a change! Then the people assured me that "die Duutschen"[2] were not so bad after all, that they were compelled to do their duty, and were kind to the inhabitants if these were kind to them.

And at present? Every word expressed hate, profound hate, hardly controlled. They trembled all over when they spoke in deep, inspiring voices about "die Duutschen."[2]

Everything of value had been stolen from them: horses, cows, sheep, carts, bicycles, everything, everything!—only in some cases payment was made with tickets, which might be cashed after the war. During the night the German soldiers slept in the rooms, but the inhabitants—men, women, children, babies and sick persons—they locked in barns and cellars, which they boarded up.

I was not allowed to return by bicycle, and left it at a café at the crossing of the roads to Tongres and Riemst. A couple of days later the Germans had already abstracted the tyres.

The road to The Netherlands was strewn over with empty wine-bottles.

CHAPTER VII
LIÈGE AFTER THE OCCUPATION

Next day I was already back in Liège, where much was changed after my last visit. The Germans went on terrorising the inhabitants, and these, being extremely frightened, looked with suspicion at every stranger. In the streets was the smoke of burning houses, especially from Outre-Meuse.

In every quarter I met Belgian refugees from the south, and Netherlanders who wanted to escape to their safe native country. The Liège people themselves were not allowed to leave.

Nearly every hour another proclamation was posted; and this made the people still more nervous. One of them brought the information that the province of Liège had to pay a war-tax of fifty million francs. Another forbade the people to be out in the streets after six o'clock p.m.; the doors must remain open, the windows show the lights. Burning and shooting were threatened if any more arms should be found, and all houses were to be searched.

Many shops were closed on account of lack of stock, as everything had been requisitioned, and as yet no traffic was allowed to bring in fresh provisions. All this bother made the inhabitants discontented, but frightened them at the same time; they grumbled and whispered, and looked about with malicious, flaming eyes, but in mortal fear.

Labourers were called up to assist in reinforcing the conquered forts on the left bank of the Meuse, the forts which by and by might be used to shell their fellow-countrymen, in case the Germans should be forced to retire. Nobody will have offered himself for this work voluntarily, the less so as the proclamation wound up as follows:—

"Des ouvriers volontaires seront embauchés à partir du 21 Août sur la rive gauche de la Meuse, où on fera connaître les conditions détaillées":

("Voluntary workmen will be enrolled from August 21st on the left bank of the Meuse, where details of the conditions will be made known.")

The streets and squares where the high military officers had established themselves were closed by cordons of soldiers, and nobody was allowed to pass them.

The town was entirely shut off from war- and other news.

I informed a few priests of the Pope's death, which had been known in The Netherlands for several days. They knew nothing about it, and asked whether I had any proof by me. I gave them De Tijd printed with a black border, and armed with this document they went to communicate the sad news to the Right Reverend Rutten, bishop of Liège.

I also brought consternation to the nunnery at which my cousin lives by this same report of the Holy Father's demise; and the good dear Sisters roamed through the passages, wringing their hands and repeating: "Le Pape est mort!—le Pape est mort!" ("The Pope is dead!")

I met a doctor at this nunnery, who told me highly important news, but in whispers, because in these days "even walls have ears": the Allies had gained great victories over the Germans. As he saw by the expression of my face that I did not believe off-hand all he told, he became still more impressive in manner, and produced a paper, from which he recited:—

"Great German defeat at Libramont—nine thousand prisoners taken."

"In Alsace the French are near the Rhine."

"The Russians advanced fifty miles into East Prussia."

In the same way the list went on for a goodly length, and he became actually angry when even then I refused to believe everything. He was especially pleased with the account of the victory near Libramont. He had a friend, also a physician, who had been compelled by the Germans to go with them in the medical service, and this friend had told him this himself. It was remarkable that educated, superior persons could become so narrow-minded in times like these, and believed anything simply because they hoped that it might be true.

The town was full of soldiers, and I had great trouble to find lodgings. "Tout est pris par les Allemands" ("Everything is taken by the Germans") was the answer I got everywhere, with the result that I was still hunting for a bedroom after six o'clock, although nobody was then allowed in the streets. I was stopped at every turn, and after explaining my case got a hint to hurry up.

At last I found an hotel, where I could have a small garret, against which arrangement I had not the slightest objection in the circumstances. The café downstairs looked rather peculiar, with a great number of looking-glasses, and ladies with powdered faces. These seemed not averse to closer relations with me, but when I pretended not to understand a single word of French, they soon gave it up, and showed no further desire for my friendship. But I could see quite well that they discussed the question whether I was a German officer or a spy?

I went to bed early, for that day I had again walked from Maastricht to Liège. My little bedroom was quite in the roof of the house, and had evidently been used by a servant.

About midnight I was roused by an infernal noise in the street. People yelled and screamed most fearfully, and I heard rifle-shots also.

I felt not the slightest inclination to go and see what was the matter, but I stretched myself and yawned, feeling much more tired after a couple of hours' rest than when I went to bed. The uproar went on, and suddenly I thought that I also heard a hubbub in the café downstairs. And, really, it came ever nearer. People rushed up and down the stairs, screamed and yelled, doors were banged, in short it was as if they were pulling down the house.

Very sleepy, I went on listening ... listening ... probably until I fell asleep again, for I cannot remember what happened after.

I woke up in the morning, and when going downstairs saw that the doors of all the rooms stood open, and everything inside was in great disorder. In the café tables and chairs were overturned, and broken looking-glasses lay on the floor. The front door was also open, and I walked away.

And now the explanation? During the night the Germans had started house-to-house searches, and wherever the doors were not opened quickly enough, the soldiers began to shoot. The inhabitants were then driven into the street amid loud screams and cries. It was also said that some persons had been shot.

By what accident had I not been disturbed? The height, perhaps, at which my miserable little garret-room was situated.

The hotel where I stayed that night was called Hôtel de la Paix; an hotel of peace, indeed!

CHAPTER VIII
LOUVAIN DESTROYED

As soon as I heard about the horrors that took place at Louvain, I hastened to try and get there to find out, if possible, by personal observation the truth of the numberless conflicting stories that would undoubtedly grow up from the facts. I expected that the situation round about the town would be rather critical, and decided to proceed cautiously. It is rather a long stretch of nearly forty-five miles, but I succeeded in getting to Louvain in the afternoon.

The road itself had prepared me already in some degree for the horrors I should find there. All the villages through which I passed, excepting Tongres and the townlets of St. Trond, Borgloon, and Tirlemont, were for the greater part burned down or shelled into ruins. The German troops, who had been stoutly resisted during their march through St. Trond and Tirlemont, had attacked in a great rage the civilian population. They set the houses on fire and aimed their rifles at the terror-stricken civilians who fled from them. The men were nearly all killed, but women and children were shot as well.

On the road from Borgloon to Thienen I had a chat with an old crone, who stood weeping by the ruins of her miserable little cottage, which she refused to leave. This little house, which strenuous zeal had enabled her to buy, was all she possessed on earth besides her two sons, both fallen through the murderous lead of those barbarians, and buried in the little garden at the back of their ruined home. Of another family, living close by, the father and two sons were murdered in the same way.

Between Thienen and Louvain I met endless trains of refugees, exactly like those I had seen already near Visé, Liège, and other places. These also carried their wretched bundles, and children and young people did their utmost to encourage and support their elders on their arduous path. All these people saluted me in a cringing, timid manner, nodding smilingly and taking off their caps already from afar.

I saw some extremely poor people, very old and stiff, to whom walking was nearly impossible. A Bavarian soldier escorted them. He had his rifle slung across his back and in both hands carried the luggage of the unfortunate creatures. He seemed to have come a long way already, for he looked tired, and the perspiration ran down his face. Although it is only natural to assist one's fellow-creatures, this scene touched me, for hitherto I had seen the Germans commit rough, inhuman deeds only.

I noticed the smell of fire already several miles from Louvain. On both sides of the road small mounds indicated the graves of soldiers who fell during the brave resistance of the Belgians before Louvain. A small wooden cross and some pieces of accoutrement were the only decorations. Carcases of horses were lying in the fields, from which came a disagreeable smell.

The town was on fire, and ruddy smoke hovered over it. Deserted like a wilderness, not a soul moved in the streets. The first street I entered was the Rue de la Station. Large, imposing mansions used to stand here, but the devouring fire consumed even the last traces of former greatness.

All houses were on fire, and every now and then walls fell down with a roar of thunder, shrouding the greater part of the street in a thick cloud of suffocating smoke and dust. Sometimes I had to run to escape from the filthy mass. On several walls an order was written in chalk directing the men to come to the market-place to assist in extinguishing the fire, and the women to stay indoors. As soon as the order had been obeyed the Germans drove the men from the market to the station, where they were packed in trucks like cattle.

Farther on in the Rue de la Station lay nine rotting carcases of horses, the intestines oozing from the bodies, and a greasy substance was poured over their skin. The stench was unbearable and made breathing nearly impossible, which compelled me to jump on my bicycle and escape as quickly as possible from the pestilential surroundings.

The sun was already setting, and became still redder, making still more abominable and more infernal the glare of the burning town. Nobody moved about in this abode of death.

I roamed about aimlessly in a scorching heat. Whither? I did not know myself. I did not know Louvain and met nobody whom I might ask something. I came near a couple of streets that were only ruins; the walls collapsed against each other and filled the roadway with rubbish, so that sometimes I could not see whether I walked on or beside the place where the houses used to stand.

Bicycling was of course out of the question; I shouldered my bicycle and stepped across the glowing cinders, which singed my soles. One spot could still be recognised as a street corner. Three soldiers emerged there suddenly and aimed at me with their rifles.

I explained who I was, and was then allowed to come nearer. They were drunk, and with glassy eyes talked about francs-tireurs, the friendship Germans felt for Netherlanders, and so on. One of them entered the still burning corner house and returned with three bottles of wine, one a bottle of Champagne; corks were drawn and one of the bottles handed to me. First I said that I never took wine, then that the doctor had forbidden it; it was of no use. The fellow who held the bottle in front of me got nasty, and shouted:

"If you don't drink with us you are not our friend." At the same time he beat the ground with his rifle-butt and, willy-nilly, I had to drink.

Suddenly several shots sounded in the neighbourhood. The three took their rifles and looked round, somewhat scared. They assured me that they would protect me. If there had been occasion for it, it would have been against their own comrades, for a troop of soldiers came sailing along, swinging about their rifles and shooting at the burning houses as they walked on, without rhyme or reason, anyhow and anywhere. These were drunk also. At last I was able to shake off my "friends," and got through another street into the market-place, at the town-hall and St. Peter's Church. The beautiful town-hall happily was not destroyed, as the first reports intimated, but St. Peter's had been damaged most cruelly. The spire had disappeared, the roof collapsed, windows broken, the altar burned, the pulpit badly damaged, and so forth. The two last-named parts were fine works of art.

For the rest most houses in the market-place were on fire. Soldiers were billeted on one of the corner houses, and I was of course detained there, but released again, after having been requested to show up the francs-tireurs. I had to consider also where I might pass the night in this burning city? I asked an officer's consent to stay the night with the soldiers. He gave his permission if I could get the consent of the commanding officer, whom I might find at the station; he told me that he was sure to grant it.

Before I got there I passed the Halls of Louvain, the building that contained the world-famous library, with its numerous art-treasures. Only the outer walls were left standing, inside it was all ruins. All was reduced to dust, to miserable rubbish, and never will one single page be recovered of all those thousands of burned manuscripts.

I was greatly astonished to see a little old man sitting by his house, while all those in the neighbourhood were burning. His own dwelling had escaped without much damage, and was only hit by rifle bullets. He told me that his family had fled, his son with wife and all children but one, a small boy. At length he left also, but had lost his way outside the town, and returned to his house, where the Germans "allowed" him to remain. I considered that I might after all sleep better in that house than yonder among the soldiers, and asked the little man whether he would put me up for the night. He did not object at all; but in spite of my pressing, he refused absolutely to accept any payment.

"But," he said, "but perhaps you brought some bread with you to eat on the road, and I should like to have a piece of that ... not for myself ... but for my grandchild; we had nothing to eat all day long, and the little boy is so ... is so hungry."

The poor man wept, and, although I had taken with me no more than two pieces of bread-and-butter, which I had not touched yet, I could not bear the sight of these poor, hungry things, and handed over to them my food.

As I passed a Red Cross Hospital, partly spared, I noticed a Flemish doctor, who first looked at me from the door held ajar, and then came nearer; a strapping young fellow with a black beard. After I had made myself known as a Netherlander, he was clearly surprised, and it seemed as though he had a lot to ask or to tell. I expected to hear a torrent of abuse against the Huns, who had destroyed everything, and murdered so many innocent people, or a lament about the valuable treasures of the library, which also had not been spared; but no, other thoughts occupied his mind. With a slightly trembling voice he asked:

"Ah well, you come from The Netherlands; tell me whether it is true that you have let the Germans through, allowing them to ravish us? Tell me whether this is true?"

The man became quite excited, and took hold of my sleeve. He looked me straight in the face, as if he wanted to find out by the expression of my eyes whether I spoke the truth. I could easily stand the scrutinising look, for I knew too well how utterly false those suspicions were. So I replied with great emphasis:

"I know that those rumours have been spread about, but also that they were contradicted by Belgian officials. I know also, and can affirm it from my own personal observation, that there is not a single word of truth in those accusations, for I passed the early days of the war in the district where the fight was going on."

The good man's face became quite cheerful, he grasped my hand, deeply moved, and, pressing it warmly, said:

"Ah, well, I am sincerely glad to hear that. You cannot believe what awful sorrow it gave us, Flemings, when we heard that the Netherlanders were conspiring with the Germans."

The doctor now became more communicative on other matters. According to him the Germans contended that the inhabitants had been shooting from windows and cellars, in order to prevent the garrison from assisting their comrades, who were fighting a battle against the Belgians at a distance of about four miles and a half from the town. Such an organised action of the inhabitants, under the tyrannical rule of the Germans during the eight days before the destruction, he called impossible, and therefore the whole accusation absurd. At any rate they had felt that the destruction was coming, and had been planned systematically, for during those eight days the Germans had plundered the population, and taken from them all bread, even what they required to feed themselves.

To avenge this alleged shooting by civilians the fires had been kindled in the houses, maxims placed in the streets, women and children beaten, men imprisoned or murdered.

The discovery by the Germans of so-called depôts of Belgian rifles, each rifle labelled with the name of a citizen, was a gigantic "misunderstanding." Already before the Germans occupied the town the burgomaster had issued an order that all arms should be delivered. The inhabitants had obeyed, and the rifles were provided with a card so that each might be returned to the lawful owner after the war. This collection of arms has been used by the Germans as evidence of an organised revolt of the citizens.

When I told the doctor that I had to go to the station, he explained to me how I could get there without walking across red hot cinders, and I followed his advice. I walked through quarters which used to be the pride of the city, but were now turned into heaps of rubbish.

They made also sad havoc of the Boulevard de Namur. Many mansions of the aristocracy had been destroyed and many people killed. There were corpses still lying on the Boulevard as I passed, all in a state of decay. The smell was unbearable and the sight loathsome, especially when I saw several drunken soldiers insulting the bodies of these unfortunate people.

In the flowerbeds in front of the station many corpses had been buried, especially those of soldiers who had been killed in the fight near Louvain. The station itself was well guarded, but, thanks to my passport and resolute manner, I gained admission and was finally ushered into the presence of the man who is responsible for the destruction of Louvain, Von Manteuffel.

I had expected to meet a terrible creature, but must admit that he was as kind as possible. As soon as he had learned from my papers that I was a Netherland journalist, he jumped up and stood in the attitude as though he saw in me the personification of the Kaiser. He already probably felt the pangs of remorse, and now wanted to try and justify himself as far as possible in the eyes of the public.

He stated that the cause of the destruction was the necessity of punishment, because Belgian soldiers in civilian dress had stayed behind in Louvain, waiting to attack the German army from behind at the first favourable opportunity. They thought that their chance had come when for a short time the German troops had to be withdrawn from the fortified camp of Antwerp to take their share in a fight near Louvain. Von Manteuffel thought that by attacking the troops in the town the Belgians hoped to prevent the Louvain garrison from assisting their comrades.

He did not seem to mind much the destruction of the Halls with their world-famous wealth of books; anyway he spoke about it in an unconcerned tone. But he seemed to attach great importance to the safety of the town-hall. He said that when the buildings adjoining the town-hall began to burn, he had them blown up in order to keep the fire away from the beautiful monument.

As darkness was coming on I asked him whether it was not dangerous to pass the night in the house of that little old man, whom I mentioned above. He saw nothing dangerous in it, as by far the greater part of the town was deserted, and no attack need be feared.

So I thought that I might chance it. The house was some distance from the station, near the railway line; opposite stood a sort of goods station guarded by six soldiers. Before entering the house I had a chat with them, for I thought that if I explained my position and told them that the commanding officer gave me permission to pass the night in that house, I should be much safer if anything should happen during the night, because they knew then that they had to deal with a neutral journalist. They might moreover warn me should the fire that was raging all around reach that house. So I told the whole story to these fellows, who were also more than half drunk, showed them my passports, gave them some cigars, and after a friendly chat went to the old man who was to put me up for the night.

There was of course no gas lit, and there was no paraffin lamp in the house. I was shown to my room by the dim light of a candle. The old man could hardly get up the stairs, as he was trembling all over in consequence of the days passed in fear and dread. The ceiling of my bedroom had been pierced by bullets, and the fragments covered nearly the whole of the bed, which had not been made after it was last used. The unaccustomed work of stripping and making the bed was soon finished, and I was hardly ready when a soldier entered at the door, which had to be left open by order, and shouted from the bottom of the staircase that I was not allowed to have a light, and must blow out my candle.

I was soon fast asleep, tired out by my bicycle ride of that day of about forty-five miles, and my wanderings through Liège. But my rest was not to be a long one. At about ten o'clock I was awakened by a great noise on the stairs, and was surprised to see six armed soldiers in my room. That is not exactly a pleasant manner of waking up after so short a sleep. They informed me in a gruff voice that I had to get up, to dress and follow them. As I obeyed the order, I asked what gave me this unexpected honour; but they refused to enlighten me on that point.

After I had dressed in their presence, they searched all my pockets, and felt all over my body to find out whether I had any arms concealed about me. Then three soldiers went downstairs, I had to follow these, and the other three came in the rear. I did not understand at all of what capital crime I was suspected which made it necessary to have me arrested by six soldiers armed to the teeth.

We waited in the street for two of the soldiers who went to fetch the old man. After waiting a good while the poor wretch appeared between them. He wept profusely, and between his loud sobs affirmed repeatedly that he was innocent, that he did not know me, that I told him I was a Netherland journalist, and so on, and so on: "Oh, gentlemen!—oh, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, "I must not leave my little boy ... my laddie; ... he is quite alone.... Oh, let me go!" ...

I pitied him from the bottom of my heart, and tried to console him by remarking that it was all a misunderstanding, and that I would see to it that he would soon be released.

"Come now quietly," I said; "so much the sooner you will be back with your laddie."

But he did not take any notice of all my exhortations and was entirely impervious to them in his grief. So I went to the station side by side with the weeping man, and surrounded by the six soldiers. The crackle of the flames, the sound of collapsing houses seemed more terrifying in the night than in day-time, and now and again I got a shock when suddenly, by the uncertain light of the flames, I saw the corpse of a civilian lying in the dark shade of the tall trees on the Boulevard.

Whenever our escort fancied that they saw something, they stopped and called out to the supposed approaching persons: "Who goes there?" Sometimes it was only some shrubs that they saw; at other times patrolling German soldiers. "Parole?" was asked: "Duisburg!" and after that answer they came nearer. At the station I was taken to an officer who sat at a table on the platform and had lit up his nearest surroundings by means of a paraffin-lamp. My little old man wept now so badly that he was quite unmanageable, and the officer made up his mind to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

"Tell me, father," he began, "did you allow this man by your side to stay the night at your house?"

"Oh ... oh ... let me ... go to my laddie ... let me go ... oh ... oh...."

"Yes, all right, you may go, but we only want you to tell us what you know of this man."

"Oh—oh ... I don't understand you ... let me go ... my little boy ... we have nothing to eat ... we are innocent ... I do not know the gentleman ... oh ... oh!"

I took the liberty to explain to the officer that the man did not understand him, and stated that he did not know me.

"Then, why did you want to stay at the man's house?—what brought you here?"

Thus my examination opened. I told him everything from beginning to end, also that the commanding officer had given me permission to stay at that house, that I had shown my papers to the soldiers at the goods station opposite the house, and that I did not understand why I should be put to all this inconvenience.

He explained to me that one of those soldiers accused me of ... spying and arson. He had thought to recognise in me a person who had asked him that afternoon whether he was ... a Belgian or a German soldier, and whom he had also seen escaping from a factory which was in full blaze a moment later.

Highly indignant, I claimed of course that that soldier should also be called; but I was told that I had better assume a more modest tone. I then asked to be taken to the commanding officer, whom I had seen that afternoon; but he was away on inspection or something, and would not return before the next morning.

After this the officer examined my papers carefully one by one, and had to admit that they were in perfect order. Still, he had no authority to take a decision before I had been seen by the commanding officer.

The old man was allowed to go home, escorted by the same soldiers. At the very moment that he was about to leave, I happened to notice on the platform a gigantic heap of loaves, brought in by train for the soldiers.

"Do you know," I asked the officer, "that this old man and his grandchild are starving? He put me up because I gave him a couple of pieces of bread-and-butter for the child." He looked at me somewhat crossly, but inquired all the same whether my information was correct, and then gave the old man two loaves, which dried his tears immediately, and for which he thanked the donor in a quivering voice.

Two soldiers now took everything I had in my pockets, even my watch and my purse. This brought also to light a German map of Belgium, with a stamp "For military use only." I was told in a gruff voice that this was a highly suspicious thing, and that they could not understand how it got into my possession. I replied quite coolly that I had bought the thing in Aix-la-Chapelle for one mark, where it could be had in many shops, and that the words "For the military only" merely revealed the shrewd German commercial instinct, which knows that people always like to possess things which are not meant for them.

I believe that this made him angry; at least he ordered me to take off my shoes also, and their inside was carefully examined.

I was now escorted to a spot where on some straw several soldiers were sleeping, who had to do sentry-go at two o'clock that night. It was a part of the platform which was not even roofed, and entirely under the open sky. But they anyway had straw to lie on, and sufficient cover, but I had to lie down between them on the flags, without any blanket. A separate sentry was commanded to watch me; every two hours another was charged with the task. I was allowed to try and sleep, with the warning that I should be shot at the slightest attempt to escape.

It was a chilly night, and a dense heavy fog made it impossible to see anything.... My "bed-fellows" raged and fumed at me, saying that I was one of those villains who had treacherously shot at them. I shivered from the cold, and felt, as it were, the dampness of the wet stone floor entering my system.

While all the others were denouncing me, one soldier was ready to believe that I was a peaceful foreign journalist, and that all the misunderstanding would disappear the next morning as soon as I should be taken to the commanding officer. He took pity on me, and got a thick soldier's coat for me as cover. I still feel grateful to the man for it! But sleep was out of the question on that wet floor, in the dense fog. When the guard was changed and soldiers came back, or others went, they could not see in the dark where they went, and treated me to a kick against my head or some other part of my body.

It was a fantastic night. Trains arrived out of the foggy darkness, their screeching whistle resounding from the far distance, and when they steamed into the station a storm of noise arose. All these trains brought British prisoners of war, captured by the Germans at St. Quentin, and hundreds of German soldiers escorted the trains, which were all covered over with green branches, and looked like copse-wood sliding along the railroad. As soon as they rumbled into the station the escorts sang loudly their patriotic songs, and "Germany before all other!" ("Deutschland über Alles!") vibrated through the fog.

The soldiers lying round about me, and those in other parts of the station, got up, shouting, "There are the British," and ran towards the arriving trains. They jeered at the beaten enemies in all sorts of vulgar and filthy words, which made the German enthusiasm absolutely lacking in chivalry. Eight trains with captured British arrived during that night.

At seven o'clock in the morning I was taken to the commanding officer, and was glad to see him again. He jumped up immediately and came to me with a charming smile, when I pointed to my escort and explained that I was a prisoner.

He flushed red with anger, and asked the sergeant what it all meant. The latter told the story and I filled in some details.

He showed the most profound indignation, and offered his apologies with lively gestures. He said that my papers proved quite clearly that I was a Netherland journalist. He declined to allow any further examination, and gave the peremptory order that everything that had been taken away from me should be returned at once. When I had put everything in my pockets, he asked:

"Have they given you back everything?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, "excepting my pocket-knife."

"Where is that knife?" Von Manteuffel asked the sergeant who had fetched my belongings.

"But that is a weapon, general!"

"Return that knife at once!"

The general expatiated once more on the francs-tireurs of Louvain, and asked me to explain in my papers without fail that the citizens had to thank themselves for what had happened. The sergeant who had taken me to him was ordered to escort me, that I might not have any further trouble with the soldiers in the city.

I started on my return journey to The Netherlands sick to death. The consequences of lying on that wet floor made themselves badly felt, and besides being quite stiff and chilly, my interior was badly out of order.

Many refugees returned to Louvain that morning simply driven by hunger. I myself lived still on the breakfast I had at Maastricht on the previous day, and badly wanted something to eat, but still more a cup of hot coffee, to warm my chilled body. I was able to get the coffee—without milk or sugar—from a peasant along the road, but food was out of the question. Most of the people had nothing left, others saved a piece of bread as hard as a brick for the moment when hunger might drive them to extreme distress. Whatever sums I offered, nothing could be had before I came to Tirlemont, where I was able to buy three eggs.

I had a rather amusing meeting at Tongres, with a Netherland colleague, who was on his way to Louvain.

"Where do you come from?" was his first question.

"From Louvain!"

"Have you been there already? I am going there too. How are things there?"

"Have you got anything for me to eat?" I asked, not heeding his words.

I said it quite innocently, without any other desire beyond that of taking off the edge of my really trying hunger. But the effect of my question was surprising indeed. He looked at me dumbfounded, and asked:

"But where did you stay then during the night?"

"I have been arrested."

"And did you not get anything to eat?"

"No!"

He was back in The Netherlands before me.

CHAPTER IX
LOUVAIN UNDER THE MAILED FIST

The next day at Maastricht I tried to cure the evil results of that night on the damp floor in Louvain by eating great quantities of rice and drinking much cocoa with liberal doses of cinnamon, but as it was of no avail, I started again the next morning.

The majority of the refugees returning to Louvain belonged to the lower classes, and they began to loot and plunder the town, encouraged thereto by the German soldiers, who threw the things into the streets, and said: "Take it, if you like!" In extenuation of the looting and plundering I might say that the poor wretches tried before all to get hold of half-burned eatables.

During my first visit I estimated the number of civilian victims at about eighty. This number turned out to be larger, as many during the second fire fled to their cellars, exits of which were however choked up by the collapsing walls. The corpses of numerous suffocated citizens were found in these cellars.

At many monasteries I heard painful details of the treatment suffered by priests. The majority were made prisoners, and many were tied to trees during a whole night and afterwards released. Several were killed. I heard, for example, at the convent of the Jesuits that a student of theology, Eugène Dupiereux, had been murdered, simply because he was found to have kept a diary of the war in which he had expressed a rather unfavourable opinion about the Germans. In the same manner two Josephite brothers were murdered, who later on were found to be Germans; of other priests who had been killed, the names were not yet known.

Many clerical gentlemen connected with the University had been ill-treated in the most atrocious manner. The architect Lenertz, a native of Luxemburg, also connected with the University, had been shot, for no reason at all, before the eyes of his wife at the moment that he left the house. And Louvain was so effectively cut off from the outer world that in most convents I was asked whether the rumour was true that the Pope was dead! And at that time his successor had already been appointed.

I succeeded in laying my hands on an original copy of a proclamation that ought not to have been posted before the following day. I took the document with me to The Netherlands, and it is of special interest, because in it the Germans admit to have tyrannised the people, and to have not only burned Louvain, but also ransacked the town. The proclamation had been drawn up in concert with the German authorities and was approved by them. It was in French and in Flemish, and read as follows:

"PROCLAMATION

"To the inhabitants of the City of Louvain

"We have in vain visited our municipal representatives. The last of them, Alderman Schmidt, who was prevented from fulfilling his office, surrendered to us the municipal power on August 30th.

"I believe that it is my duty to take that task upon me, assisted by some well-known burgesses, who have undertaken to stand by me.

"In agreement with the German Military authority I invite the inhabitants of Louvain to return to the city, and to take up again their usual occupations.

"The orders issued by Monsieur Collins remain valid.

"I mention more especially:—

"The German military authority have promised us that on these conditions no further burning and looting shall take place and that the population shall no longer be threatened or embarrassed.

"We are engaged now most actively upon the re-establishment of the municipal services: Police, Municipal Register, and the Services of the Canals, which services will all be reopened as soon as possible.

"The police service will be performed in the daytime by some volunteers, who will wear an armlet in the municipal colours, and an identity card, both officially stamped. Well-minded persons, who are willing to perform these duties, are urgently requested to present themselves at the town-hall to-day at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"The acting burgomaster, A. Nerincx.

"The town-clerk, Eug. Marguery.

"The committee of burgesses! Dr. Boine, Pastor Claes, Dr. P. Debaisieux, Dr. Deconinck, Ch. de la Vallée-Poussin, Monseigneur Deploigne, P. Helleputte, A. Thiery, Dr. Tits, L. Verhelst, V. Vingeroedt.

"Louvain,
"September 1st, 1914."

Pastor Claes, mentioned in the above proclamation, has done very much for the miserable Louvain population; they owe him especially much gratitude for an act of devotion with regard to the murdered victims.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the railway station a house was being built, of which only the foundations were laid. The place showed nothing beyond a huge cavity. I had noticed already several times that there was an atrocious stench near the station, which at last became unendurable. Pastor Claes, who courageously entered all destroyed houses to look for the dead, had discovered the victims also in this place. In the cave just mentioned he found sixteen corpses of burghers, two priests among them. In order to remove them from the street the Germans had simply thrown them into that cave, without covering the corpses in any way. They had been lying there for days, and were decaying rapidly.

I witnessed Pastor Claes's labours for a moment only, for the smell was unbearable even at a somewhat considerable distance. The good pastor persevered in the work after having started it, with the assistance of some faithful helpers, who all of them had sealed their mouths with a sponge soaked in some disinfectant. The corpses were taken from the cave, money and documents put away in separate bags, and the unfortunate owners coffined and blessed.

During the next days I found a hospitable domicile at the convent of the Sacred Heart on the Namur Canal ("Naamsche Vest"). It is a seminary for missionaries, and when I went to them for the first time I had a letter from their head, the "provincial" in The Netherlands, who sent the order that all the theological students should be transferred to The Netherlands as quickly as possible. They received me with the greatest kindness, and ever since I enjoyed their hospitality.

A short time after the destruction I was even obliged to accept it for a whole week, as on the same day on which I arrived in Louvain for another visit there was renewed fighting round the town. The Belgians had advanced as far as Rotselair, where the next day they held their ground against overwhelmingly superior numbers; but at last they had to retire, leaving a great many dead behind. The Belgians had even got on to the road Tirlemont-Louvain, and blown up the railway line in two places.

On that occasion the Germans arrested me at about two miles from Tirlemont. Firstly, because I travelled by bicycle, and secondly, because I was accused of having "cooked" one of my passports.

This was so far true that I had altered the dates of a passport, which allowed me to stay in Louvain from September 6th till the 14th, into the 8th and the 16th. When taken to the commanding officer in Tirlemont, I convinced him so thoroughly of my complete innocence, that the next day I was allowed to go on to Louvain.

There the German authorities detained me for a full week, by prohibiting me to return: "for the sake of your own safety," they told me courteously. During the day I was busy enough, and in the evenings I enjoyed the pleasant company of the three fathers of the Sacred Heart who had remained in the mission house, and with whose photographic instrument I took many a snapshot of the Louvain ruins.

The mission house had become a sanctuary for a good many people. As bread was lacking, two brothers fried pancakes all day long and distributed them among the numberless persons who asked for food. Among these were people who a few days earlier belonged to the well-to-do, but who saw their business, in which often more than their own capital was invested, wrecked by fire, and were now obliged to appeal to the charity of these monks. Indeed during the first weeks after that terrible event many starved, and I assisted often at the distribution of the pancakes, because they were short-handed.

In this grand old monastery, both inside and out a jewel of architecture, about five hundred people had found shelter. They were lodged in halls, rooms, and kitchens. The fathers gave them everything in the way of food they might require, but they had to do their own cooking. As not one of these people had a home left, which they could call their own, no wonder that they greatly admired the fathers. Often when I strolled about with one of these, one or other of the refugees came to him to press his hand and express gratitude for the hospitality offered.

In this way I got into conversation with a middle-aged lady. Her husband had been shot, and she got a bullet in her arm, which had to be amputated in consequence. The poor creature had lost all courage, and lived on her nerves only. It was remarkable to hear this father find the right words, and succeed in making her calm and resigned. Before she left us, she had promised that for her children's sake she would do all in her power to control herself.

During the week of my compulsory stay in Louvain I had also the privilege of making the acquaintance of two brave compatriots; I mean Professor Noyons and his wife.

They never left Louvain. On August 25th information was sent to the Leo XIII Institution for Philosophy, a building turned into a hospital, that a hundred wounded men might be expected towards evening. That evening began the wild shooting and burning of houses by the Germans, and soon a large number of wounded was taken to the Institution. Suddenly Professor Noyons recognised one of his servants among the wounded who were brought to him for treatment. She had three bullets in her side. After having bandaged her wounds, he hurried away to his house, in order to see what had happened.

He thought that it was sufficiently protected by the immense Red Cross flag, and the words written on the door by the Germans themselves: "Professor Noyons, Netherland physician, to be spared." But he had been mistaken. The soldiers did not respect anything, and had forced an entry into the house, wounded that servant, and then wrecked everything in the most scandalous manner. Beautiful large Japanese jars had been smashed to pieces, valuable furniture damaged by knocking and breaking large pieces out of it with rifles and bayonets. A fine carpet was burned, as well as many pieces of furniture. A hole was burned even in the floor.

Professor Noyons took me over the house and showed me the destruction. Bullets had been lodged in the inner walls after piercing the windows and on a level with the windows. By lengthening the line of trajection one found that the bullets must have been fired at a distance of nearly six hundred yards, which proves that the Germans simply fired at random.

As Professor Noyons heard that other hospitals, churches, and ancient buildings were not spared either, he went to the commanding officer through the rain of bullets, clad in his white overalls, to claim protection for everything that lawfully displayed the Red Cross flag, and to request that churches, convents, ancient buildings, and especially the town-hall should be spared. It is only owing to his intervention that not much more was destroyed in Louvain.

On the Thursday of the week of destruction the inhabitants were notified that they had to leave the town, but Professor Noyons and his wife decided to stay on, as they could not leave the one hundred and fifty wounded men who were laid up at the Institution.

They carried all those patients into the cellars on stretchers, and there waited with the nursing staff for the bombardment that had been announced, but never came off.

Professor Noyons took me all over the hospital, and if I should describe all I saw and heard there, that story alone would fill volumes. He took me, for example, to a boy of eight years old, whose shoulder was shattered by rifle-shots. His father and mother, four little brothers and a sister, had been murdered. The boy himself was saved because they thought that he was dead, whereas he was only unconscious. When I asked for his parents, brothers and sister, he put up his one hand and, counting by his little fingers, he mentioned their names.

There lay also a woman, with one leg amputated. Her husband had been murdered, another bullet had entered the leg of the baby in her arms. Another woman had her child murdered in her arms.

Women and children had frequently been ill-treated in a most atrocious manner, aged and sick people were dragged out of the houses, and flung down in the street. This happened, for example, to an old man, who lay dying in his cellar. In spite of the supplications of his wife and two sons, he was flung on the cobbles, where he died soon. The sons were taken prisoners and sent away. His widow assists at present nursing other unfortunates at Professor Noyons' hospital.

A paralysed woman who had also been flung into the street was nursed at the hospital, and lay with many others in the chapel of the Institution, which had been turned into a ward.

Belgian and German soldiers found excellent nursing here. Many convalescents were allowed to walk in the large garden, which was happily divided by a large wall, so that the one-time combatants could be separated.

Professor and Mrs. Noyons were busy day and night on behalf of their fellow-men, and one could quite well tell by their looks that they were overworked. They took their rest in the kitchen, which was built in the basement. All male and female voluntary nurses took their meals there.

Once I enjoyed the pleasure of partaking of such a "dinner," as the guest of Professor and Mrs. Noyons. The company was very mixed, and men who never in their lives had ever done anything else but spoiling their eyes for the sake of science, by reading all manner of ancient manuscripts, were now busy, dressed in a blue apron, stirring the soup and mashing potatoes or vegetables. The menu comprised nothing but potatoes, a little vegetables, and a finely calculated piece of meat.

At that dinner I also made the acquaintance of Professor Nerincx, the acting burgomaster. It was a courageous act to assume the government of the town destroyed by the Germans; he did it for the sake of his fellow-citizens, who will never be able to requite their indebtedness to the temporary burgomaster for what he did for them; and most of them do not even know it.

The war is not over yet, and much is still hidden under a veil, but after the war it will undoubtedly be the duty of the Louvain people to twine a magnificent wreath round the three names Noyons-Nerincx-Claes.

The names of many priests will be found in the register of Belgian martyrs. I have mentioned already some who, although innocent, gave their life for their country. During my week's stay at Louvain I heard of other cases. The priest of Corbeek-Loo, for example, was simply tortured to death on account of one of his sermons in which he said that the fight of the Belgian army was beautiful "because it lawfully resists an unlawful invasion," and further for announcing a Holy Requiem Mass for the souls of the "murdered" citizens.

At Blauwput, near Louvain, where, according to the Germans, there had been also shooting, many houses were set on fire and the men placed in a row. It was then announced that by way of punishment every fifth man would be shot. When the Germans counted as tenth the father of a large family, that man fainted, and they simply killed number eleven, a Capuchin.

Very many other cases of martyrdom among priests remained unknown to me, but the various Belgian bishops examined all these events with praiseworthy zeal and scrupulousness, and by taking extensive evidence established the fact that in no case the victims could be reproached with any act that justified the sentence against them. After the war the world will surely be made acquainted with the horrible truth.

The foregoing record of my experiences in Louvain will make it sufficiently clear to the unprejudiced reader that the destruction and wholesale murders were nothing but wanton crimes committed by the German troops stationed there, crimes which it is impossible to justify on any ground.

The duration of the war has more or less surprised me, and I postponed writing this book for a long time as I wished to quote the evidence of persons in high places, clergymen, and educated foreigners. As the war is not over yet, I must omit these in the interest of their safety.

But from my personal knowledge and the evidence referred to, I am able to establish the following facts in connection with the events that preceded and followed the destruction of Louvain.

On August 25th the Antwerp garrison made a sortie, in the direction of Louvain. At the beginning the Belgians were successful, and came within four and a half miles of this town. For a moment the situation became critical, and at about seven o'clock a small troop of cavalry came at a furious gallop from the scene of battle to Louvain, probably to summon the assistance of the garrison.

At that hour the Namur Canal ("Naamsche Vest") was already dark in consequence of the thick foliage of tall trees, and suddenly the wild horsemen were shot at. Several neutral witnesses established the fact that this was done by a small troop of German infantry who came from the station, probably on their way to the battle-field, and thought that Belgian cavalry came racing into the town.

The men stopped their horses, dismounted, and returned the fire from behind their animals. This went on for about a quarter of an hour. Every one was alarmed by this shooting; other soldiers came racing in from the station, and others ran to and fro near that building crying, "A surprise attack!" Some, thinking that the attack came from the advancing Belgians, rushed to the place where the fighting took place, others misunderstood the cry, believed that the citizens assaulted them, and began to shoot at these, and at the houses.

Before those on the Naamsche Vest found out their mistake, the shooting was going on in the greater part of the town, and the excited men, who at first had been shooting at each other, soon joined the rest. Some wounded troopers were taken to one of the convents on the Vest, but a couple of hours later they were suddenly fetched away again.

The whole evening and the next day the Germans went on shooting people and firing houses. It is worth recording that the library was already set on fire that same evening of the fray on the Naamsche Vest; it was burning at eight o'clock.

On Thursday everyone, even the persons staying in the Institution and hospitals, were ordered to leave the town, as it was to be shelled. They seemed to have no pity even on the wretched wounded men. Only the male and female nurses remained with these, of their own free will, determined to die with them if necessary.

The inhabitants were driven to the station, where the husbands were cruelly separated from their wives and several persons were shot. Other men were escorted to a place behind the station, and their wives and children were told that those men were going to be shot. The poor things heard indeed the click-clack of the rifles and thought that their dear ones were dead. However, many returned later, and their "shooting" seems to have been a mere sham.

Great crowds walked the long way to Tirlemont. They were constantly threatened by German soldiers, who aimed their rifles at them; passing officers commanded from time to time that some should stay behind, and others were shot. Especially did the clerics amongst the refugees suffer a great deal; many were not only scandalously scoffed at, but also maliciously injured. The greater part of the Germans showed a strong anti-Catholic bias, in particular against the clergy, whom they accused of having incited the people against them.

This is only a short record of the destruction of Louvain, the truthfulness of which will be firmly and fully established after the war by extensive, accurately drawn up declarations.

Louvain had been destroyed because a crowd of wanton soldiers, who were garrisoned there, who hated the Belgians, and who had been kept within bounds with difficulty, seized on their own stupid mistake to give rein to their passions.

Their commanding officer was the worthy head of such a mob, a heartless creature, who did not show the slightest remorse for the destruction of those magnificent libraries, set on fire by his order.

It has been alleged that civilians had been shooting from the Halls, but when a committee examined the remains in the building with the consent of the military, they found there the carcase of a German horse. They were ordered to stop their investigations immediately, for that horse was evidence ... that German military men had been billeted on the building, and thus no civilians could have been there. This will also be published later in the reports.

The German authority left indeed no effort untried to cover up their atrocious action. Already in a communication from Wolff, dated August 29th, they attempted to violate the truth by asserting that:—

"The houses caught fire from burning benzine, and the flames burst out in other quarters also. On Wednesday afternoon part of the town and the northern suburb were in flames."

They have not been able to maintain that story for very long; the truth overtook the lie.

May all the nations of the world after the war collaborate to compensate Louvain for her martyrdom, see that this city shall be restored to her former, happy prosperity, and get a library which approaches as much as possible the one she lost. The Germans can probably do their part by investigating where the motor-cars went which left the Halls on that wretched Tuesday night, heavily laden with books.

CHAPTER X
ALONG THE MEUSE TO HUY, ANDENNE, AND NAMUR

Between two of my several trips to Louvain I made one to Namur in the beginning of September, after having secured at Liège, by a trick, a splendid permit which enabled me to travel even by motor-car.

There was a little more order in the whole district round Liège, since the Germans behaved more decently, and provisions had arrived. The shock, which the burning and butchering of so many places and persons gave to the whole world, had also influenced the conduct of the Germans, and from the beginning of September they made a practice of asking each time when they thought that they had behaved decently: "Well, are we such barbarians as the world calls us?"

In this relative calm the population felt somewhat relieved, and ventured again into the streets. Outdoors on the "stoeps" of the houses men sat on their haunches smoking their pipe and playing a game of piquet. Most of them were vigorous fellows, miners, who did not mind any amount of work, but now came slowly under the demoralising influence of idleness.

My motor whirled along the gloriously fine road to Huy. It is a delicious tour through the beautiful valley of the Meuse, along sloping light-green roads. Had the circumstances not been so sad, I should have enjoyed it better.

I had already been near Huy, at a time when several burning houses shrouded the whole town in clouds of smoke. On August 24th, at ten o'clock at night, some shots had been fired in the neighbourhood of the viaduct. This was a sign for hundreds of soldiers to begin shooting at random and arrest several persons. Several houses were perforated like sieves by bullets, and an entire street of twenty-eight houses, the Rue du Jardin, was reduced to ashes. No civilians were killed.

It is evident from the "Report on the Violations of International Law in Belgium" that the Germans themselves admit that they were in the wrong with regard to the atrocities which were committed here. The following order of the day proves it:

"Last night a shooting affray took place. There is no evidence that the inhabitants of the towns had any arms in their houses, nor is there evidence that the people took part in the shooting; on the contrary, it seems that the soldiers were under the influence of alcohol, and began to shoot in a senseless fear of a hostile attack.

"The behaviour of the soldiers during the night, with very few exceptions, makes a scandalous impression.

"It is highly deplorable when officers or non-commissioned officers set houses on fire without the permission or order of the commanding, or, as the case may be, the senior officer, or when by their attitude they encourage the rank and file to burn and plunder.

"I require that everywhere a strict investigation shall take place into the conduct of the soldiers with regard to the life and property of the civilian population.

"I prohibit all shooting in the towns without the order of an officer.

"The miserable behaviour of the men has been the cause that a non-commissioned officer and a private were seriously wounded by German ammunition.

"The Commanding Officer,
"Major Von Bassewitz."

I was informed further that there had been no fighting for the possession of Huy. The citadel on which the German flag flew had not been put in a state of defence on account of its great age. The old bridge over the Meuse at Huy had been wrecked by the Belgians, but the Germans had simply driven stout piles into the river, to support a floor which they put over the wrecked part, and so restored the traffic.

During my visit I happened to make the acquaintance of Mr. Derricks, a brother of the lawyer who had been murdered so cruelly at Canne, and also a member of the Provincial States. The poor man was deeply moved when he heard the details about his brother's death. I made him very happy by taking a letter with me for his sister-in-law, who was now at Maastricht.

At Andenne things seemed much worse than at Huy. I stopped there on my way to Namur, and had been prepared in Liège for the sad things I should hear. A proclamation posted in the last-named town ran as follows:—

"August 22nd, 1914.

"After having protested their peaceful sentiments the inhabitants of Andenne made a treacherous attack on our troops.

"The Commanding General burned down the whole city with my consent, shooting also about one hundred persons.

"I acquaint the inhabitants of Liège of this, that they may understand what fate threatens them if they should assume a similar attitude.

"The Commanding General-in-chief,
"Von Buelow."

General von Buelow says here that he gave his consent to the shooting of about one hundred persons, but I can state with absolute certainty that there were about 400 victims. We must therefore assume that the other 300 were killed without his consent.

Andenne, on the right bank of the Meuse, was a town of 8,000 inhabitants. When the Germans arrived there on the morning of August 19th they found the bridge connecting Andenne and Seilles wrecked. In the afternoon they began building a pontoon bridge, which was ready the next day. They were very much put out about the wrecking of the other bridge, by the Belgian soldiers, a couple of hours before their arrival. Their exasperation became still greater when they discovered after having finished the pontoon bridge, that the big tunnel on the left bank of the Meuse had also been made useless by barricades and entanglements.

By refusing to pay at cafés and shops the military already expressed their dissatisfaction. Then on Thursday, August 20th, about six in the evening, after a great many troops had crossed the river by the pontoon bridge, a shot was heard which seemed the sign for a terrible fusillade. Guns seemed to have been mounted at convenient places outside the town, for shells exploded right at its centre. The troops did no longer cross the bridge, but spread themselves in a disorderly manner all over the town, constantly shooting at the windows. Even mitrailleuses were brought into action. Those of the inhabitants who could fly did so, but many were killed in the streets and others perished by bullets entering the houses through the windows. Many others were shot in the cellars, for the soldiers forced their way in, in order to loot the bottles of wine and to swallow their fill of liquor, with the result that very soon the whole garrison was a tipsy mob.

It struck me always that as soon as something took place anywhere which might lead to disorder, the method adopted was as follows: first a fusillade in order to scare the inhabitants, secondly looting of numberless bottles of wine, and finally cruel, inhuman murders, the ransacking and the wrecking.

The game of shooting and looting went on all through the night of the 20th. Not a window or door remained whole even if the house was not burned down altogether.

At four o'clock in the morning all the men, women, and children who had not yet been put to death were driven to the Place des Tilleuls, but on the way many men had their brains blown out. Amongst others, Dr. Camus, the septuagenarian burgomaster, was then wounded and afterwards received the finishing stroke by a hatchet.

At the Place des Tilleuls fifty men were taken from the crowd at random, escorted to the Meuse, and shot. In the meantime other soldiers went on wrecking, firing, and looting.

Andenne offered a dismal spectacle. The doors and windows of the houses that were not completely burned down had been kicked and beaten to pieces, and boards had been nailed before the holes. The inhabitants hung about disconsolately, and I could tell by their faces how they suffered, for every family in the town mourned the death of one dear to them.

They all became excited whenever I mentioned the accusations brought against them. They asserted with the greatest emphasis that it was an absolute lie that the civilians had shot. "Even if they torture me to death," said most of them, "I'll still contend that this accusation is untrue."

The German officers, of course, held a different opinion; they alleged that the shooting by the civilians was even very general and purported to be a decided attack on the army. I asked them whether they had found any rifles or other arms at the "searches" of the houses—I expressed myself somewhat cautiously on purpose—for that ought to have been the case if such a great number of citizens had joined in the shooting. "No," they answered, "they were sly enough to see to it that we did not find these. They had been buried in time, of course."

The answer is, surely, not very convincing!

The Germans had flung some more bridges across the river beyond Andenne, which had been used for the occupation of Namur chiefly, and lay idle now guarded by only one sentry. I left by the town-gate without any difficulties; the German soldiers jumped out of the way and stood to attention, as soon as they noticed the Netherland flag flying at the front of the motor. To the right and the left of the gateway they had written in gigantic letters: "Newspapers, please!"

Namur was shelled on August 21st and the 23rd. Many houses were then already wrecked, many civilians killed. On the 23rd the Belgian army withdrew and only some of the forts were defended. This withdrawal of the Belgian army may have been a strategical necessity, but it is certain that the forts had not been defended unto the last. Five forts fell into the hands of the Germans without having suffered any damage.

On the afternoon of the 23rd the hostile troops entered the town, and on that day the inhabitants had not to suffer, excepting from requisitions made. But the following evening it was suddenly on fire at various spots, and the soldiers began to shoot in all directions, making many victims. Before setting the houses on fire, with a liberal use of the lozenges mentioned already, the usurpers ransacked them and removed numerous pieces of valuable furniture. The Place d'Armes, the Place Léopold, the Rue St. Nicolas, Rue Rogier, and the Avenue de la Plante were almost entirely reduced to ashes. With the town-hall many valuable pictures were destroyed. The day following the conflagration they left off shooting at last, but the looting went on for days more.

When I drove into Namur, I found the town comparatively quiet; there was some traffic in the streets, and Belgian army surgeons and British nurses in their uniforms walked about freely. There were many wounded: the German wounded were all placed in the military hospital; the Belgians and the French had been taken to the Sisters of Mercy, the Institution Saint Louis, the High School for Girls, and the Sisters of Our Lady.

When I was eating a little at one of the hotels near the railway station, I was offered the newspaper l'Ami de l'Ordre, which had appeared again for the first time on that day, September 7th, under the Censorship of the German authorities. For curiosity's sake I translate here the first leaderette, published under the rule of the new masters:—

"ENOUGH DESTROYED, ENOUGH DISTRESSED!

"More than one hundred houses have been burned or wrecked at Namur, among them the town-hall, the house at the Namur Citadel, and the Institution for ophthalmology in the Place Léopold. In the Grand Marché and its neighbourhood about sixty have been destroyed by fire. If we add to this the damage done by the bombardment from Friday the 21st until Sunday the 23rd August, and the wrecking of the bridges after the retreat of the army, we may estimate the losses at 10,000,000 francs.

"Industry, trade, and agriculture exist no longer, labour is unemployed, and food is getting scarce, and over this dismal scene hovers the memory of numerous victims, of hundreds of prisoners of war or missing soldiers. During the bombardment of August 23rd one hundred persons were killed outright, or succumbed to their wounds. There are innumerable other wounded. This it is plain must have plunged the town into deep distress.

"It mourns the lost liberty, the happiness, the peace, the brightness of her past prosperity which has vanished for a long season to come, it laments on account of the prisoners of war, the wounded, the dead.... And every morning the brilliant sun rises on the scene, the warm rays bathe town and country, both alike cruelly lashed by the frightful scourge.

"Yesterday crowds of believers prayed for peace, for that blessing which is only valued when it is lost. Let us repeat our supplications twofold, let us increase our zeal. Lord! O Lord! listen to the voice of Thy people who pray to Thee! Be merciful! Give us back our peace!"

CHAPTER XI
FROM MAASTRICHT TO THE FRENCH FRONTIER