This intrepid young man was from Liége and he performed these three courageous acts in the most natural manner possible, convinced that he had merely done his duty as a soldier. He was very much surprised when he was appointed Corporal for his fine conduct. Later on, he was always ready, day or night, for the most dangerous expeditions. His career ended gloriously, for he was killed in an army motor-car expedition, during the Pellenberg fight.
We thought, too, of that young soldier who had been horribly wounded and whose arm was all slashed. With his valid arm, he held out a piece of his gun to his General, crying out: "I still have my gun!" Then, too, there was that other one who had to be helped along by two of the ambulance men, but who insisted on carrying his trophy, which was a German lance.
We thought, too, of those other courageous ones: Thiery and Prince Baudouin de Ligne. They had both enlisted as motor-car volunteers for as long as the war should last. They obtained permission to go to the firing lines with the foot-soldiers, whom they stimulated by their example. They had made a trench, six of them together, had occupied it and, for an hour, had held out against superior forces, whilst endeavouring to take a machine-gun.
Our thoughts went out to many, many heroes, whose brave deeds we cannot relate here. Among them were Major Bourgouis and Major Stacquet; Commanders Demaret, Vandamme, and Wacquez; Captains Lequeux, Panquin, Van Vlierberghen; Lieutenant Stoops and Sub-Lieutenant Marrée, who were killed, and Major Rademaekers, Commander Dujardin, Lieutenants Mortier, M. Van Damme, A. Desmet, Ch. Albert and Chevalier de Waepenaere, all of whom were wounded.
Our Belgian race and our corps of officers gave proof, during that first shock, from the first moment of their baptism of fire, of all the bravery of their cool energy and of their unflinching tenacity.
After the Victory
It was broad daylight, the following morning, when we moved onwards towards Haelen. There was intense activity at Loxbergen; motor-cars and ambulances were taking their loads of wounded men to the Infirmary that had been installed in the school. They were laid there, side by side, on straw that was soon stained with blood. The atmosphere was impregnated with the odour of disinfectants. Sisters of Mercy, priests, doctors, and ambulance men lavished every care on them, seeking to alleviate their sufferings, to console them, to bring a gleam to their dim eyes by the mention of their absent families, of their homes, of their wives and children.
The most hardened heart would have given way at the sight of those poor naked bodies, writhing with pain, of those mutilated limbs, of those twisted arms, and of those beseeching looks, there, in the midst of all the rags and bandages, uniforms, boots, and weapons flung in a heap in the corner, or on the school desks, where only a few days before, happy Belgian children were learning to read and to love their country.
The Battle-Field