A Journal From Our Legation in Belgium

by Hugh Gibson

The Burgomaster set out on foot to walk back three kilometers and catch a tram to Liège, and we went southeast to Dalhem, where we spent the night at the Château de Dalhem, on a hill overlooking the picturesque little village snuggled in the bottom of the valley. It was off the main line of march, and had not suffered. The château belongs to General Thyss, who was a great friend of the late King Leopold. He was not there, but the place was being protected by a splendid old dragon in the shape of a German governess who had been with the family for over thirty years, and refused to leave when the war broke out. She had been obliged to lodge a crowd of German officers and some of their men, but held them down with an iron hand, kept them from doing any damage and made them pay for every egg and every bottle of wine they had. We arrived after dark and threw the place into a panic of fear, but Monsieur Francqui soon reassured everybody, and the place was lighted up and placed at our disposal in short order.

Although it was pitch dark when we arrived, it was only half past four and we set out on foot to stretch a little. The moon came out and lighted our way through the country roads. We tramped for a couple of hours through all sorts of little towns and villages and groups of houses, some of them wiped out and some hardly touched.

General Thyss's cellars are famous, and with our dinner of soup and bacon and eggs, we had some of the finest Burgundy I have ever tasted. Early to bed so that we could be up and off at daybreak.

Friday morning we were away early, and made for Herve, where I had never been before. It is a ruin with a few natives and a lot of Landsturm left. We talked to some peasants and to an old priest who gave us something to think about in their stories of happenings there during and after the occupation of their homes. From there to Liège, by way of a lot of little villages whose names I don't remember, but whose condition was pretty bad, past the fort of Fléron and the defensive works that are being put up there.

Wasted some time trying to get gasoline for the other motors, and then the long stretch to Namur, down the valley of the Meuse, and stopped long enough for a look at Andennes, my second visit to the place.

In Andenne and Seilles (a little village across the Meuse) the Germans did a thorough job. They killed about three hundred people and burned about the same number of houses. Most of the houses had been looted systematically. According to the stories of those inhabitants who remain, there was a reign of terror for about a week, during which the Germans rendered themselves guilty of every sort of atrocity and barbarity. They are all most positive that there was no firing upon the German troops by the civil population. It seems to be generally believed that the massacre was due to resistance of retiring Belgian troops and the destruction of bridges and tunnels to cover their retreat. Whatever the provocation, the behaviour of the Germans was that of savages. We were shown photographs showing the corpses of some of those killed. It was to be inferred that they had been wantonly mutilated.

Had lunch at an hotel across the street from the station. After a hasty lunch we made off to Dinant, still following the Meuse. The thin line of houses down the course of the river were thinner than they were a few months ago, and there were signs of suffering and distress everywhere. I had never been to Dinant before, but had seen pictures of it and thought I had an idea of what we were going to see. But the pictures did not give a hint of the horror of the place. The little town, which must have been a gem, nestled at the foot of a huge gray cliff, crowned with the obsolete fort, which was not used or attacked. The town is gone. Part of the church is standing, and the walls of a number of buildings, but for the most part, there is nothing but a mess of scattered bricks to show where the houses had stood. And why it was done, we were not able to learn, for everybody there says that there was no fighting in the town itself. We heard stories, too, and such stories that they can hardly be put on paper. Our three guests were more and more impressed as we went on. The bridge was blown up and had fallen into the river, and as we had little time to make the rest of our day's journey, we did not wait to cross by the emergency bridge farther up the river. While we were standing talking to a schoolmaster and his father by the destroyed bridge, seven big huskies with rifles and fixed bayonets came through, leading an old man and a woman who had been found with a camera in their possession. At first there was no objection raised to the taking of photographs, but now our friends are getting a little touchy about it, and lock up anybody silly enough to get caught with kodaks or cameras.

According to what we were told, the Germans entered the town from the direction of Ciney, on the evening of August 21st, and began firing into the windows of the houses. The Germans admit this, but say that there were French troops in the town and this was the only way they could get them out. A few people were killed, but there was nothing that evening in the nature of a general massacre. Although the next day was comparatively quiet, a good part of the population took refuge in the surrounding hills.

On Sunday morning, the 23rd, the German troops set out to pillage and shoot. They drove the people into the street, and set fire to their houses. Those who tried to run away were shot down in their tracks. The congregation was taken from the church, and fifty of the men were shot. All the civilians who could be rounded up were driven into the big square and kept there until evening. About six o'clock the women were lined up on one side of the square and kept in line by soldiers. On the other side, the men were lined up along a wall, in two rows, the first kneeling. Then, under command of an officer, two volleys were fired into them. The dead and wounded were left together until the Germans got round to burying them, when practically all were dead. This was only one of several wholesale executions. The Germans do not seem to contradict the essential facts, but merely put forward the plea that most of the damage was incidental to the fighting which took place between the armed forces. Altogether more than eight hundred people were killed. Six hundred and twelve have been identified and given burial. Others were not recognisable. I have one of the lists which are still to be had, although the Germans have ordered all copies returned to them. Those killed ranged in age from Félix Fivet, aged three weeks, to an old woman named Jadot, who was eighty. But then Félix probably fired on the German troops.