From the hospital we drove to the Hôtel St. Antoine and asked for rooms. The proprietor was very suspicious of us, and we had a tremendous time convincing him that there was nothing the matter with us. He knew that we could not have come from Brussels, as nobody had been able to make the trip. Our papers were en règle, but that made no difference. German spies and other suspicious characters had managed to get forged papers before that. Fortunately, all the other diplomats were living in the hotel, and I asked that he hunt up some of them, and verify what we had to say for ourselves. Webber, of the British Legation, was brought out and acted as though he had seen a ghost. He calmed down enough to assure the proprietor that we were respectable citizens, and that he could safely give us rooms. All the other people were away from the hotel for the moment, so we deposited our things in our room, and made for the Consulate-General. It was then half-past six, and the Consul-General had gone for the day. A well-trained porter refused to tell where either he or the Vice-Consul-General lived, but we managed to find out and got to the Vice-Consul-General's house after a hunt with a chasseur of the hotel on the box. He was not at home, but his wife was there. We talked with her for a few minutes, and then went back to the hotel to await Sherman's (Vice-Consul-General) coming. He called in the course of a few minutes, and we made arrangements to go to the Consulate after dinner and get off our telegrams.
By the time we could get washed up and ready for dinner, the crowd had come back, and when we set foot on the stairway, we were literally overwhelmed by our loving friends. First, I met Sir Francis Villiers and accepted his invitation to dine. He and Prince Koudacheff, the Russian Minister, a lot of other colleagues, and goodness only knows who else, fell upon us with demands for news. I took refuge in Sir Francis's office, and saw as many people as I could until dinner time. Baron van der Elst, the Secretary General of the Foreign Office, and M. Carton de Wiart, the Minister of Justice, forgetting all about the requirements of the protocol that I should make the first call upon them, came flying around to see if I had any news of their families. Luckily I had, and was able to tell them that all was well. I did not know that I had so much first-hand knowledge of the people in Brussels, but was able to give good news to any number of people. It became a regular joyfest, and was more fun for me than for anybody else. By eight o'clock we got out to dinner, but hardly got two consecutive bites without interruptions. In the midst of soup, General Yungbluth, Chief of Staff to the King, came around in full regimentals and wanted to get all sorts of news for the Queen. Before we got much farther, others began to arrive and drew up chairs to the table, filling up all that part of the room. As we were finishing dinner, several Ministers of State came in to say that the Prime Minister wanted me to come to meet him and the Cabinet Council which was being held—just to assure them that all was well with their families and to tell them, in the bargain, anything that I felt I properly could. However, I had my real work ahead of me—getting off my telegrams to Washington. I tore myself away from the crowd and, joining Sherman, who was waiting for me in the hall, I made for the Consulate-General. The Consul-General was already there, anxious to hear the news. I had to get before the Department all the news I could, and as comprehensive a statement as possible of everything that had happened since communications had been cut. I pounded away until after eleven, and got off a fat bundle of cables, which Sherman took to the office for me. I then made for the Grand Hôtel, where the Cabinet Council was waiting for me.
I have never been through a more moving time than the hour and a half I spent with them. It was hard to keep from bursting out and telling them everything that I knew would interest them. I had bound myself with no promises before I left about telling of the situation, but none the less I felt bound not to do it. I was able to tell them a great deal that was of comfort to them, and that could give no ground for objection if the Germans were to know of it, and, on these subjects, I gave them all they wanted. After telling them all I could about their families and friends, I let them ask questions and did my best to answer those that I could. The first thing they wanted to know was how the Germans had behaved in the town. The answer I gave them was satisfactory. Then they wanted to know whether the Royal Palace had been respected, or whether the German flag was flying over it; also whether the Belgian flag still flew on the Hôtel de Ville. Their pride in their old town was touching, and when they heard that no harm had as yet been done it, you would have thought that they were hearing good news of friends they had lost. Then they started in and told me all the news they had from outside sources—bits of information which had reached them indirectly via Holland, and the reports of their military authorities. We have never had such complete information given us—enough to justify the trip even if I had not restored communication with the Department.
We stayed on and talked until nearly half-past twelve, when I got up and insisted on leaving; perhaps it is just as well. They did not want to break up the party, but when I insisted, they also made up their minds to call it a day's work and quit.
We brought van der Elst back to the hotel, and with his influence ran our car into the Gendarmerie next door. Then to bed.
Blount and I had a huge room on the third floor front. We had just got into bed and were settling down to a good night's rest when there was an explosion, the like of which I have never heard before, and we sat up and paid strict attention. We were greatly interested, but took it calmly, knowing that the forts were nearly four miles out of town and that they could bang away as long as they liked without doing more than spoil our night's sleep. There were eight of these explosions at short intervals, and then as they stopped there was a sharp purr like the distant rattle of a machine gun. As that died down, the chimes of the Cathedral—the sweetest carillon I have ever heard—sounded one o'clock. We thought that the Germans must have tried an advance under cover of a bombardment, and retired as soon as they saw that the forts were vigilant and not to be taken by surprise. We did not even get out of bed. About five minutes later we heard footsteps on the roof and the voice of a woman in a window across the street, asking some one on the sidewalk below whether it was safe to go back to bed. I got out and took a look into the street. There were a lot of people there talking and gesticulating, but nothing of enough interest to keep two tired men from their night's sleep, so we climbed back into bed and stayed until morning.
Blount called me at what seemed an unreasonably early hour and said we should be up and about our day's work. When we were both dressed, we found that we had made a bad guess, when he looked at his watch and discovered that it was only a quarter to seven. Being up, however, we decided to go down and get our breakfast.
When we got down we found everybody else stirring, and it took us several minutes to get it through our heads that we had been through more excitement than we wotted of. Those distant explosions that we had taken so calmly were bombs dropped from a Zeppelin which had sailed over the city and dropped death and destruction in its path. The first bomb fell less than two hundred yards from where we slept—no wonder that we were rocked in our beds! After a little breakfast we sallied forth.
The first bomb was in a little street around the corner from the hotel, and had fallen into a narrow four-story house, which had been blown into bits. When the bomb burst, it not only tore a fine hole in the immediate vicinity, but hurled its pieces several hundred yards. All the windows for at least two hundred or three hundred feet were smashed into little bits. The fronts of all the surrounding houses were pierced with hundreds of holes, large and small. The street itself was filled with débris and was impassable. From this place we went to the other points where bombs had fallen. As we afterward learned, ten people were killed outright; a number have since died of their injuries and a lot more are injured, and some of these may die. A number of houses were completely wrecked and a great many will have to be torn down. Army officers were amazed at the terrific force of the explosions. The last bomb dropped as the Zeppelin passed over our heads fell in the centre of a large square—la Place du Poids Publique. It tore a hole in the cobblestone pavement, some twenty feet square and four or five feet deep. Every window in the square was smashed to bits. The fronts of the houses were riddled with holes, and everybody had been obliged to move out, as many of the houses were expected to fall at any time. The Dutch Minister's house was near one of the smaller bombs and was damaged slightly. Every window was smashed. All the crockery and china are gone; mirrors in tiny fragments; and the Minister somewhat startled. Not far away was Faura, the First Secretary of the Spanish Legation. His wife had been worried sick for fear of bombardment, and he had succeeded only the day before in prevailing upon her to go to England with their large family of children. Another bomb fell not far from the houses of the Consul-General and the Vice-Consul-General, and they were not at all pleased. The windows on one side of our hotel were also smashed.