Peace or security was nowhere to be found. The war-chased people fled from place to place for weeks, fearful and famishing, until the kindly and protecting arms of England and Holland received them, and the noble hearts and hands of American women united to provide food and clothing for those who fled, and for the others also who would not, or could not, leave their own country.
While cheerfully and gratefully testifying to what has been accomplished in this country, and the great amount of money spent in alleviating the sufferings caused by this sanguinary conflict, it does seem sad to think that American manufacturers will continue to supply weapons and ammunition to any of the belligerent countries. It reminds one of a great conflagration, in which the firemen exert themselves to subdue the flames, while a few pour on oil to replenish the fire. This will be a lasting reproach to those engaged in this destroying traffic. “There is no pocket in a shroud,” and the bloodstained money obtained in this manner will not assuage the pain and grief of the orphan and widow, nor will it purchase redemption at the judgment seat above.
As the danger increased, difficulties in the way of traveling also increased. Passports, upon which were indicated the distinguishing characteristics of the bearer, had to be obtained before leaving one’s place of residence, if only for one hour; and such passports could only be used in the vicinity in which they were issued.
To go to Antwerp, or any of the cities or towns at a distance, one’s passport had to bear his or her portrait, sealed by the Burgomaster of the town or city wherein he resided. If these requirements were not complied with, a person would not be permitted to pass through the gate of a city or enter even an ordinary depot.
A great number of refugees found their way ultimately within the fortified City of Antwerp. They were seen for a day or two in solitary groups in the public park, or in tents along the streets. In a large school near the Palace of Justice fifteen hundred found refuge for a few days, and were then directed to leave.
The authorities, becoming alarmed about the food and water supplies of the city, and fearing contagion or disease, compelled all refugees who were not obliged to leave their homes on account of fortifications, to leave the city within a specified time. Large numbers of these poor, homeless people, many of whom were of gentle birth and wealthy, were obliged to crowd into freight cars which had been used for the transportation of cattle, and were thus carried away to Ghent or Ostend. From Ostend they were shipped to England. Many had previously left Antwerp for Holland. In these countries thousands of them will prayerfully await the dawn of peace, which will decide the future destiny of their country.
The events already related occurred between the first of August and the 27th of September. Sunday, September 27, passed off quietly in Willebroeck, although refugees filed through the streets continually, and the booming of cannon was heard in the surrounding towns. The sky was leaden and a somber, smoky atmosphere hung over the country and caused a feeling of sadness and uncertainty.
In the evening one of the refugees returned from a hurried visit to the scene of his former home, and related to his daughter, who anxiously awaited his arrival, that the enemy had made great headway. “Tomorrow will be the last day in which it will be safe to remain in Willebroeck,” said he to those who stood there.
In a few minutes the report was circulated on all sides. Sisters, on hearing it, remarked, “Nonsense! What God protects is well protected; we must not be alarmed, but patiently await the accomplishment of God’s holy will.” Monday’s papers brought news of another bombardment of the City of Mechelen (Malines), a short distance from Willebroeck.
Following are a few quotations from that morning’s paper (Antwerp’s Handelsblad, Monday, September 28, 1914): “While on the train this morning, before entering the station of Mechelen, our attention was attracted by the multitudes who, in the greatest haste, took flight through the Zandpoortvest. They were the residents of Muysen. The German troops, about eight hundred strong, were there at half-past seven; thus the people had no alternative but to take flight as rapidly as possible. The enemy shot upon some refugees, and the ten-year-old son of Desiré Horckmans was shot in the car where he was sitting, and Mrs. Arm Beulens was seriously wounded. ‘This was only a sign of what was yet to come.’