"Ah, there comes Mister Tijd, and he
Lost like ourselves his liberty!"
I had not the faintest idea who they were, but then they introduced themselves as van Wersch and Dasoul, both living at the time at Hasselt. The first had been at Maastricht a couple of days ago and had seen me there. He told me that that morning he had been "hooked" and his companion only the evening before. He had come to Bilsen on a bicycle, and got such a blow on his back from the butt of a German rifle that the butt was cracked in two although his back was not injured.
He had been uneasy because he experienced no disagreeable consequences of that blow, and had therefore consulted the doctor at Bilsen, who thought that only his excited nerves had enabled him to withstand such a blow. Both had been locked up a couple of hours and their bicycles had been taken away, as also their papers. Mr. van Wersch, however, had an acquaintance at Bilsen with whom he and his companion found lodgings, and whither he was good enough to take me as well.
After a bed had been promised me, my first request was for something to eat, for I had not enjoyed anything as yet. But there was nothing left, absolutely nothing. I scratched my head, and rubbed my empty stomach, when suddenly I heard a fowl cackling outside. Negotiations about it were soon finished; my companion was to kill the fowl, whereas I was to call on Major Krittel and tell him that I liked my enforced stay in Bilsen very much, but that he ought to see now that I got something to eat.
I returned with two large round "brown Georges"—soldiers' loaves.
Never did I enjoy a meal so much; but not so the kind people who had received us so friendly; they could not eat. The terror which reigned among the population in those days was indescribable. One must have seen it and gone through it with them, to realise it. They really feared that at any moment the Germans would drive the population out of the houses and set the town on fire.
Men and women in the prime of life sat on their chairs, gazing vacantly at nothing, lacking in the most literal sense of the word the strength to stand or to walk. When at about six o'clock in the evening the click-clack of rifle-fire was heard—for a Belgian patrol seemed to have come near the town,—my hostess and her daughter pressed a couple of papers against their breast, full of fear, ready to fly, but unable to walk.
That same afternoon also I made the acquaintance of the editor of a local weekly, De Bilsenaar, which was not allowed to appear during the occupation of the place by the Germans. He and others had a great many things to tell me.