It is stated that some of the wretched people were even pinioned and beaten. Their assailants then stumbled up the stairs and began to shoot wildly from the upper stories into the dark streets, where their own raving comrades were rushing about like madmen. Some civilians who in great fear had come to their front door to see what was happening were shot down.
After this game had been going on for some time, the order was given: "Everybody must come outside." Doors and windows were forced open and broken, and men, women, and children driven out of the houses. They were at once ruthlessly separated. Men who assisted their aged mothers, or carried their little babies, were taken away from their families, and driven away, leaving their wailing and weeping wives and children behind, while the flames from burning houses threw a lurid light on the sad scenes of that terrible evening.
The poor wretches, who expected to be killed at any moment, were driven into squares or the meadows, where they were exposed to the chilly night air, so that several babies perished. Only the next morning were the women and children allowed to leave—that is to say, they were told to take the shortest way to Maastricht.
A number of the men were taken to Germany, the others were kept as prisoners in the neighbourhood, and by and by had to suffer the shame of being compelled to work for the enemy. Amongst them were men who had never done any manual work, such as an aged notary public.
Even a doctor of the Red Cross established at St. Hadelin College had been removed in his white overall and wearing his Red Cross armlet. This was Dr. Labye, who already had rendered signal services to the wounded Germans. In consequence of his detention twenty of them were left in the hospital without medical attendance....
During the night only a few houses were burnt down; the general destruction followed the next morning, Sunday, August 16th, and just as I reached the little town the flames were raging all over the place in a fierce blaze.
I shall never forget that sight. The Meuse separated me from the raging blaze on the opposite bank. The flames roared violently, roofs and rafters and walls crashed down, and the wood of living trees was burning and screeching loudly. I saw but a sea of fire, one glaring glow, and the air was scorchingly hot. A light breeze blew through the place, and made clouds of smoke to whirl through the streets like avalanches of snow. The view down the longer streets leading straight from the hill-tops to the Meuse was very fantastic.
The wind seemed to play with the smoke, rolling dense volumes down the slopes which dispersed only when they reached the bank along the river. Whilst the flames soared high up from the roofs, the walls of the houses stood still erect, and everywhere in the windows one saw those miserable little white flags, symbols of submission, mute prayers that submission should be rewarded by sparing the life and possession of the inhabitants....
I stood near the spot where the ferry-boat used to take people across; but to cross was now out of the question, for any one alighting on the opposite side would be landed in the scorching glare. Therefore, I returned to Lixhe, where I might try to cross the river by the pontoon-bridge, and get to Visé along the other bank of the Meuse.
On the way I was stopped by two soldiers, one of whom examined my papers, and, finding that I was a journalist, revealed himself as a colleague, in ordinary times editor of the Kölnische Zeitung. He shook both my hands quite excitedly, glad to meet a colleague, and, better still, one from the "friendly" Netherlands.