After having murdered the burgomaster's wife, the villains attacked a guest, Mr. Derricks, a lawyer, and member of the Provincial States, whom they killed with a bayonet. His wife broke a leg when she tried to fly to the cellar.
Mr. Derricks lived at Roelanche, but with his wife and seven children had fled for security to Canne, where he was hospitably received in Mr. Poswick's, the burgomaster's, house.
When I got to the house everything was in a frightful state. A pair of curtains showed traces of fire; cupboards had been emptied, and nearly all the china and glass broken; statuary lay broken on the floor; windows were smashed; bits of bricks and plaster from the ceilings, through which many shots had been fired, completed the scene of destruction. On the doorstep I picked up a cartridge-case, which I have always kept, because it is highly probable that it had contained the bullet which killed Mrs. Poswick.
This terrible tragedy took place at scarcely six yards from the Netherland frontier, for the burgomaster's house stands by a road half Belgian and half Netherland. The Netherland soldiers who were doing frontier-duty on the latter part had to fly from the mad shooting of the Germans. They hid behind a wall that was quickly full of bullet-holes. The German soldiers spent a considerable time guzzling the burgomaster's wine, which they looted, and afterwards went off in the direction of Tongres.
It was stated later on that the German authorities punished the culprits and had them executed at Aix-la-Chapelle; De Tijd of August 31st, 1914, also reported it. But the action of these soldiers was not worse than that of generals who had entire cities destroyed and civilians killed by the hundred, but were always screened by the German Government.
On Thursday, August 20th, I decided to go once more in the direction of Tongres. As the Germans had picketed the main road along the Netherland frontier, I made a detour and dragged my bicycle across the mountain near Petit Laney, a very trying job in the stifling heat. From the mountain top I had a beautiful vista, which enabled me to see that near Riemst a large German force was encamped at which I desired to have a look. So I walked down the hill to Canne, where some crofters were trying to get their cattle into The Netherlands. These poor creatures, who usually own two or three head of cattle, had been compelled already to give up half of their stock. From Canne I cut through corn and beetroot fields to the road to Riemst. The first German sentinels were tolerably friendly.
"Ah, so you are a Netherlander, aren't you? Then we are friends. The Netherlands remains neutral, does she not? What news have you from there; are you already at war with Britain?"
These and similar questions were asked after a superficial examination of my papers, and, having answered them, I was allowed to go on. But at a certain moment an officer appeared, who summoned me to dismount, and asked for my papers. After a short examination he ordered a soldier to take me to the commanding officer at Riemst.