Later.—After writing the foregoing, I went upstairs and listened to some of the tales of the four people who were tied up at Louvain. Now that they are safely out of it, they can see the funny side of it, but it was certainly pretty dangerous while it lasted. Monsieur de Leval is overcome with admiration for their sang-froid, and marvels at the race of men we breed.
They seem to have made themselves solid with the Germans before they had been there long; it would be hard for anybody to resist that crowd any length of time. Of course they never saw their taxi again after getting out to scout for the battle, and whenever the Major who had the duty of keeping them under surveillance came to take a look at them, Cobb would work up a sob-shaken voice and plead for liberty and permission to return to Brussels. He was always at some pains to explain that it was not his life he was worrying about, but the haunting thought of that taxi running up at the rate of fifty centimes every three minutes. After a while he got the Major's funny bone located, and then all was well. He so completely got into the officer's good graces that he promised to send us word that they were safe and well,—and then failed to do so.
While the Germans occupied the city, all inhabitants were required to be indoors by eight o'clock; a light had to be kept in every window, and the blinds left open, so that any one moving could be clearly seen from the street. The windows themselves were to be closed. Dosch said he woke up about four o'clock one morning with his head splitting; the lamp was smoking and the air vile with smoke and smell. He decided he would prefer to be shot than die of headache, so deliberately got up and opened his window. The story loses its point by the fact that after violating this strict rule, he was not taken out and shot.
They said it was really pretty dreadful. From their window, they saw, every little while, a group of soldiers lead some poor frightened Belgian to a little café across the street; several officers were sitting at one of the tables on the sidewalk, holding a sort of drumhead court martial. While they were examining the case, a squad would be marched around behind the railroad station. A few minutes later the prisoner would be marched around by another way, and in a few minutes there would be a volley and the troops would be marched back to their post; then, after a little while, a stretcher would be brought out with a body in civilian clothes, a cloth over the face. Some of the prisoners were women, and there were screams before the shots were fired. It must have been a dreadful ordeal to go through.
Brussels, August 27, 1914.—The day after my last entry I started on a trip to Antwerp, got through the lines and managed to wriggle back into Brussels last night after reëstablishing telegraph communication with the Department and having a number of other things happen to and around about me.
All I can remember now of the 23d is that it was a Sunday, and that we could hear cannonading all day long from the east. It was hard to tell just where it came from, but it was probably from the direction of Wavre and Namur. It was drizzly all day. The German troops continued to pour through the city. From time to time, during the last few days, their march has been interrupted for a couple of hours at a time, apparently as a result of a determined attempt on the part of the French and English to stop the steady flow of troops toward the French frontier. Each time we could hear the booming of the cannon, the deep voices of the German guns and the sharp, dry bark of the French. At night we have seen the searchlights looking for the enemy or flashing signals. Despite the nearness of all this fighting and the sight of the wounded being brought in, the streets barred off to keep the noisy traffic away from the hospitals, and all the other signs of war, it has still been hard to realize that it was so near us.
Our little German General, von Jarotzky, has kept clicking his heels together and promising us anything we chose to ask. We have run around day after day with our telegrams, and not one has got farther than the Hôtel de Ville. Being naturally somewhat touchy, we got tired of this after a few days, and decided that the only way to get any news to Washington was for me to go to Antwerp and get into direct communication over the cable from there. We got our telegrams ready and made a last try on the General Monday morning. He was still effusively agreeable and assured us that he had determined to place a military field wire at our disposal so that we could communicate with Washington via Berlin. Our previous experiences had made us suspicious, so it was decided that while depositing our messages here, I would make a try at getting through the lines and send whatever I thought best from Antwerp or any other place I could reach. We told the General frankly what we intended to do, and he was all smiles and anxiety to please. At our request he had an imposing passport made out for me, signed with his hand and authorized with his seal. The Burgomaster wrote out an equally good letter for us when we reached the Belgian lines. Providence was to take care of us while we were between the lines, and, just to make it unanimous, He did.
We wanted to get away during the morning, but one thing after another came up and I was kept on the jump. We had to stop and worry about our newspaper correspondents, who have wandered off again. Morgan came sauntering in during the morning and announced that he and Davis had set out on foot to see whether there was any fighting near Hal; they had fallen in with some German forces advancing toward Mons. After satisfying themselves that there was nothing going on at Hal or Enghien, Morgan decided that he had had enough walking for one day, and was for coming home. Davis felt that they were too near the front to give up, and with a Sherlock Holmes sagacity announced that if they stuck to these German troops, they would succeed in locating the French and British armies. Morgan thought this so probable that he was all for coming back, and left Davis tramping along behind an ammunition wagon in search of adventure. He found it.
After getting out of their trouble at Louvain, McCutcheon, Cobb and Lewis set forth on another adventure. There are, of course, no motor cars or carriages to be had for love or money, so they invested in a couple of aged bicycles and a donkey cart. Cobb, who weighs far above standard, perched gracefully on top of the donkey cart, and the other two pedalled alongside on their wheels. They must have been a funny outfit, and at last accounts were getting along in good style. The air is filled with nervousness, however, and there is a constantly increasing list of people who are being thrown into jail, or shot as spies, and there is little time for careful and painstaking trials for wanderers who are picked up inside the lines of the fighting armies and are unable to render a convincing account of themselves. I shall be rather uncomfortable about them until they reappear.