Read Ebook: The German Fury in Belgium Experiences of a Netherland Journalist during four months with the German Army in Belgium by Mokveld L Lambertus Buchan John Author Of Introduction Etc Thieme Carel Translator

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Ebook has 1114 lines and 68475 words, and 23 pages

They told this, while we were waiting on a couple of protruding boards of the pontoon-bridge, so as to allow some extremely wide carts to pass. Once again shells exploded, a couple of hundred yards behind us, and one made a hole in the bank quite near.

"Horrible!" I sighed. "Have they not yet hit the bridge?"

"Oh yes, it has been destroyed already a couple of times, but we shall teach them a lesson! Why did not the Belgians allow us to pass through their country? What can their little army do against us? As soon as a sufficient number have crossed we shall go for these forts, then on to Brussels, and within a fortnight we shall be in Paris. Li?ge we have taken already."

"It will cost a great many men!"

"We have plenty of them; but many of us fall by the treacherous shooting of the civilians; they are swine, swine! And these Belgian women ... they are the dirtiest bitches ... beastly swine...."

The man got more and more excited, but then he was more than "half-seas over." The smoke made him cough and he stuck in the middle of his "swine." He made me shudder, and I hastened to pull out a packet of cigarettes, some of which I gave to him and his mates. In consequence the two others became more communicative, and in touching harmony assured me that:

"Oh yes, the Netherlanders are our friends; they remain neutral. And that is the best, for otherwise the whole lot would be smashed up, exactly as here in Belgium."

They did not understand, of course, that poor Belgium would have liked nothing better than to remain neutral also.

Those wide carts had passed us now, and we could proceed slowly. The bridge led to a farmhouse with tall trees and underwood. They took me to the right, to a densely overgrown spot, where a clearing had been made amidst some smaller shrubs. In the centre stood a table covered with a shining white cloth, and a goodly number of wine-bottles and glasses. Half a dozen officers in fine uniforms, gilt collars and epaulettes, were seated around it.

The sight of that small group, hidden among the green foliage, was as brilliant as it was surprising. One of the officers, clearly the highest in rank, summoned us to come nearer, and asked the soldiers for an explanation. Standing smartly at attention, they gave it, as a school-child might haltingly recite a lesson learned by heart. The officer whom I thought it convenient to call "Captain" looked searchingly at me and then began:

"Have you got papers?"

"Yes, captain."

I pulled them out: birth certificate, certificate of good conduct, foreign passport, and press-card, which were examined the one after the other.

"Are they genuine?"

"Of course, captain; everything is properly signed, stamped, and legalised."

"And what do you want to write about?"

"I don't know yet. The things I see ... and ... of course that cannot do harm to the German army."

"Hm! Hm! All right. So you intend to write friendly about us?"

"Certainly, certainly, sir! Exactly because we hear so many lies from foreign countries about the Germans, I want to try and find out the truth for myself."

"Is that so? Well, the Netherlanders are our friends, and have so much in common with our people."

"Certainly, captain; as a matter of fact we are of the same race."

But here he looked at me in a curious manner, scrutinising my face, as if he asked himself: "Is he pulling my leg, or not?" But not a muscle in my face moved, so that the "Captain" nodded approvingly ... and wrote out a pass for me to go to Vis?! I was not allowed to go to Li?ge, for, as he said, he did not yet know himself how matters stood there. The other officers overwhelmed me with questions: how matters stood in The Netherlands, and whether Great Britain had already declared war against us? I think that at that question I looked utterly perplexed, for in the same breath they told me all they knew about the danger of war for The Netherlands: Great Britain first sent an ultimatum to The Netherlands, to force her into joining the Allies against Germany, and as she had refused, the British Fleet was now on its way to Flushing. I explained to them in detail that they were utterly wrong, but they believed only a half of what I said.

There was a continuous coming and going at the bridge-command, for when I left the shrubberies a great many soldiers of high and low rank, with portfolios and documents, were waiting outside. The soldiers were to escort me back across the bridge, so that I might go on to Vis? along the other bank.

Before I got to the bridge I saw something gruesome: a number of corpses of soldiers were lying about and others were brought in ... a little farther away, on the farm, there they were digging.... I looked away quickly; I was not yet accustomed to that sort of thing. Most likely they were men killed a moment ago by shells aimed at the bridge, for wounded men were also brought in on stretchers.

At the other end of the bridge I was left by my escort, and went on alone; on my left the Meuse, on my right burning houses, above me hissing and whistling shells, that came down in front of me and behind me, with tremendous explosions, throwing the loose earth high into the air.

In Devant-le-Pont, a hamlet opposite Vis?, the doors of all the houses stood open, as a sign that the inhabitants did not propose to offer any resistance to the Germans. After much shouting the landlady of a caf? appeared, distressingly nervous, but doing her utmost to look unconcerned.

"A glass of beer, madame."

"If you please."

"The guns are horrid, madame; are you not afraid?"

"No, sir, we must hope for the best."

"Have the Germans done no harm here yet?"

"Oh no, sir, not at all!"

"Are they tolerably kind?"

"Oh, quite nice people, sir!"

Her reserve told me that I would not get much information here, and, finishing my beer, I asked:

"How much is it, madame?"

"This? Nothing, sir, nothing."

"Nothing! But, madame, I want to pay for what I drink!"

"No, no, I won't take anything for it. It is hot, is it not, and a soldier ought to get something...."

I understood only then why the woman was so full of praise of the Germans, although she was shaking in her shoes: she thought I was a soldier! How heavily weighed the oppressor's hand on the wretched population, if now already the honest Belgian heart became hypocritical!

I had great trouble to make her understand that I was a Netherlander; and that changed at once her opinion for the Germans. She told me then that her husband and children had fled to The Netherlands, as had most of the inhabitants, and that she was left behind merely because she dawdled too long. And now she was constantly afraid that they might fire her house as they did the others, and murder her ... for such had been the fate of several of the villagers. Even whole families had been killed.

Many civilians had been put to death, accused of having shot from the houses, and others for refusing to give up requisitioned food. Probably they had none, as preceding military divisions had already taken away all there was. Then some civilians were killed for refusing to work for the enemy. The houses of all these "condemned" had been burnt, and everything the soldiers fancied was looted. As a matter of fact, nearly all the soldiers I met later on were drunk, and they worried me constantly. Only when I had proved to be a Netherlander, they behaved a little better, and started abusing "the cursed Belgians," who, according to them, were all francs-tireurs.

A short distance beyond this little caf? lies the large bridge across the Meuse. Before the Germans arrived it was partly destroyed by the Belgians, but so inadequately that obviously the enemy could repair it easily. Bombs were therefore fired regularly from Fort Pontisse at the bridge, and only an hour ago it had been hit, with the result that a big hole was made in the undamaged part. In the road also big holes were made by the exploding projectiles. Having passed underneath the viaduct of the bridge, I found myself opposite Vis? on the sloping bank of the Meuse. Two boys had been commanded by the Germans to work the ferry-boat for them, and after I had shown them my passport, they took me to the other side.

It was a fine summer afternoon, and the sun shone on the many bright, whitewashed walls of the old and neat little town, built close to the rapidly flowing river. There was quiet in the streets, although nearly all the inhabitants were sitting on their chairs in the streets. But nobody ventured to move about, and conversations were held only in whispers. As I walked through the village street in my quaint get-up, they pushed their chairs a little closer together as if frightened, and looked shyly at me as if they feared that I was not the harbinger of much good. And all these hundreds of people saluted me humbly, almost cringingly, which filled me with pity.

Vis? had not been burnt yet, as had been reported in The Netherlands. Only here and there had the shells done some damage, and hundreds of window-panes had been burst by the vibration of the air. As a token of submission to the invader, small white flags hung from all the windows, and these, along the whole length of a street, made a decidedly lamentable impression.

The inhabitants had already had a variety of experiences. On Tuesday, August 4th, the first German troops arrived before the little town. The gendarmes stationed there offered resistance to the invading enemy, but, being hopelessly outnumbered, they were all shot down. As they were lying on the ground, badly wounded, Dr. Frits Goffin, head of St. Hadelin College, came in great haste as soon as he heard the shooting.

All the wounded were Roman Catholics, and as they saw the approaching priest, they implored him in a loud voice to give them absolution of sins, some making an act of contrition. The priest was unable to come near each of them, and therefore called out in a loud voice: "My Jesus, be merciful!" He then gave them all absolution of sins. But as he kneeled down to perform this sacred task, a hostile bullet whizzed past his ear, and several soldiers who ran by aimed at him, so that he had to seek safety behind a tree. I saw with my own eyes five bullet-holes in the tree that was pointed out to me.

In those first days many civilians were killed, and not only in Vis?, but still more in the surrounding villages, Mouland and Berneaux, which were soon burnt down and where many a good man was brought low by the murderous bullets. The savage soldiers killed the cattle also, and a large number of carcases had been lying about for days.

At Vis? many men had been commanded to do certain kinds of work, cutting down trees, making of roads, bridges, and so on. Many of them never returned, because they refused to do the humiliating work and were shot. Among these there were even aged people; and I myself stood by the death-bed of a man of ninety, who had been forced to assist in building a bridge, until the poor wretch broke down and was carried to St. Hadelin College, turned into a hospital by Dr. Goffin; there he died.

No wonder that the inhabitants were afraid and looked askance at me as they mistook me for a German.

On this day, August 8th, the reign of terror was still in full force. There were repeated threats to burn the town and to kill the inhabitants if they objected to do work or to deliver certain goods, especially wine and gin, of which thousands of bottles were requisitioned daily. Several times a day they were summoned by a bell and informed what the invader wanted, the necessary threats being added to the command. And the inhabitants, in mortal fear, no longer trusted each other, but searched each other's houses for things that might be delivered to satisfy the Germans.

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