Last night we dined at Ctesse. N——'s to celebrate everybody's safe return.
Brussels, Sunday, November 8, 1914.—Barges of food are beginning to come in, and we have the place filled with people with real business concerning the food and a lot of the usual "halo-grabbers" anxious to give advice or edge into some sort of non-working position where they can reap a little credit.
We are put on German time to-day.
On November 4th the Governor-General came out with a proclamation ordering that German money be accepted in all business transactions. It is to have forced currency at the rate of one mark to one franc, twenty-five centimes. As a matter of fact, it is really worth about one franc, seven centimes, and can be bought at that rate in Holland or Switzerland, where people are glad enough to get rid of their German money. Any shop refusing to accept German paper money at the stipulated rate is to be immediately closed, according to the Governor's threat.
Brussels, November 9, 1914.—Late in the afternoon Jack and I took Max for a run in the Bois. While we were going across one of the broad stretches of lawn, an officer on horseback passed us, accompanied by a mounted orderly. To our surprise the orderly drew his revolver and began waving it at us, shouting at the same time that if that —————— dog came any nearer, he would shoot him down. The officer paid no attention, but rode on ahead. I started after them on foot, but they began to trot and left me in the lurch. I ran back to the motor, overtook them, and placed the car across their path. The officer motioned his orderly to go ahead, and then let me tackle him. He took the high ground that I had no reason to complain since the dog had not actually been shot, not seeming to realize that peaceable civilians might have legitimate objections to the promiscuous waving of revolvers. He declined to give his name or that of the soldier, and I gave up and let him ride on after expressing some unflattering opinions of him and his kind to the delight of the crowd that had gathered. They did not dare say anything direct, but as I got back into the car they set up a loud "Vive l'Amérique." The officer looked peevish and rode away very stiff and haughty. Of course, since he refused to give his name, there was no getting at him, and I was free to be as indignant as I liked.
The Germans are tightening up on the question of travel in the occupied territory, and we are now engaged in a disagreeable row with them over passes for the Legation cars. They want to limit us in all sorts of ways that make no difference to them, but cut down our comfort. They will probably end by giving us what they want; but when it is all done we shall have no feeling of obligation, having been forced to fight for it.
Brussels, November 14, 1914.—On the morning of the 10th, I came down to the Legation and found things in an uproar. A telegram had been received saying that two trainloads of food, the first shipment for the Province of Liège, would cross the frontier in the course of the afternoon, under convoy of Captain Sunderland, our Military Attaché at The Hague. The Minister and I are the only people authorized to receive shipments; and, as no power of attorney had been sent to the Consul at Liège, things were in a nice mess; and, at the request of the German authorities and the Committee, it was decided that I should go down, receive the stuff and make arrangements for its protection and for the reception of future shipments. The German authorities were so excited about my being there to head off any trouble that they hustled me off on an hour's notice without any lunch. I contrived to get Jack's name put on the laisser-passer, so that he could go along and see a little something of the country. Joseph, the Legation butler, was wild to go along as far as his native village to see his aged ma, whom he had not seen since the beginning of the war, and he rode on the front seat with Max who was much delighted to get under way again.