“The Serbians,” the man replied, “may not be above suspicion, but there are other things equally suspicious, and this war which you are about to declare on a small country may be the act of the Austrian Government directed to extend its territory in the Balkans. It is dictated above all by the Autocrat at Potsdam, who is holding the stakes and will direct every move to satisfy his immoderate ambition.”
The lady, I must say, while moderate in her retorts, was nevertheless obstinate in denying that Germany had anything to do with the Balkan imbroglio, but the racing man was also obdurate, and with what turned out to be extraordinary accuracy he predicted that within a few days France, Russia and Great Britain would take up the cudgels on behalf of Serbia and enter the fray.
The conversation was still going on when the trainman announced Ostend.
CHAPTER II
THE GERMAN TAVERN-KEEPER AND THE BRABANÇONNE
Great agitation reigned on the beach at Middelkerke on August 3, 1914. The newspapers had just published the text of the Kaiser’s ultimatum to the Belgian Government. The indignation was at its highest pitch. The population could not conceive that the German Emperor, who had been entertained in Brussels a few months previously, who had been the guest of the King of the Belgians and the Belgian nation, could stoop so low as to insult both King and people. From the villa where we lived we could watch the crowds congregate on the beach. From time to time groups would leave the main body and, forming into a procession, would march to the front of a tavern, whose owner and keeper was a German. On the front of this tavern were three large signs advertising the merits of a certain brew of German beer. The crowd had to give vent to its indignation in some way, and the German signs were a tempting target for the irate population. It took but a minute to pull down the lower sign. The use of a ladder was required to pull down the one above. While this rather comical performance was going on, the surging crowd yelled and hollered, and called upon the voluntary wreckers to pull down the topmost sign which adorned the front of the third story. The ladder was too short. When this was realized, a delegation was sent to the tavern-keeper to demand that he himself go up and pull down the obtrusive sign.
At first the man demurred, but seeing the increasing excitement he decided to obey the summons. A few seconds afterwards his rubicund face appeared at a window near the roof of the building and, not without difficulty, he succeeded in pulling down the sign, while the whole beach rang with the echoes of the crowd singing and a brass band playing Belgium’s national anthem, “La Brabançonne.”
The following morning the proud and noble reply which the King of Belgium made to Germany’s ultimatum was published. A herald read the royal proclamation at all corners of the streets leading to the beach, amid the acclamations of the younger folks. Meanwhile sinister rumors were circulating. Some were to the effect that Vise was burning; others that Argenteau had been destroyed; that civilians had been executed; that devastation and terror reigned in the region situated east of the Meuse river; that the Germans, without even waiting a reply to their provoking summons to Belgium, had invaded Belgian territory–which fact the reader now knows to be true–according to the statement made to me a few days previously on that Ostend train by the couple returning to Ghent from a trip through Germany.
I particularly recall the anguish of a brave old lady, Mrs. Anciault, who owned and was staying at a villa at Middelkerke, but who resided in the suburbs of Liege. She had for several days been without news of her husband and children who had remained at home at Liege.