Drop Cap W

WHEN the spring of 1916 was in full leaf an unexpected pleasure was accorded us: permission from the Governor to ride bicycles within certain stated limits! The privilege was welcomed almost joyously by all; for, since there were no horses and no means of transit for those living in the suburbs, or those out of touch with such trams as were running, many workers were obliged to walk miles each day to and from their places of occupation. Besides, the pleasure-hungry inhabitants—doomed to remain summer and winter within the gloomy city—were glad of a chance to make excursions into woods and open country without expense or too great fatigue. Every man, woman, and child able to pedal immediately planned how to purchase a wheel, although many were only able to do so after a long period of saving—by cutting down their food supply, and other sacrifices. There were, of course, not enough bicycles in the country to meet even one-tenth of this suddenly-created demand, since most of the Belgian stock had been requisitioned for army purposes. But no sooner was the cheering permission given than the market was flooded, as though by magic, with wheels of all styles and all prices—made in Germany! Every shop was stocked to overflowing, sold out, and restocked with incredible rapidity.

In a short time the Bois, so long deserted and melancholy, presented a scene of life that did the heart good to see. Hundreds of bicycles, all bearing the Teuton trade-mark cleverly disguised, rolled gaily over the smooth asphalt of wide avenues, where the splendid automobiles of former days no longer deterred the timid; where, at that time, not even a German car or vehicle of any sort impeded their way.

So great was the pleasure and benefit afforded, especially to wan, under-nourished shop-girls and lads, in sad need of fresh air and some diversion in their joyless existence, that one was tempted to feel more kindly toward the occupying Government, until, later on, the subtle and selfish aim became known of this sole act of seeming consideration. Nevertheless, during those summer months a surprising spirit of comparative gaiety developed. The conflict raging without seemed temporarily forgotten. Young and old indulged to the full the delight of wheeling along smooth cycle tracks (laid before the war) through leafy woodlands out to Groenendael and other picturesque spots in the environs, where restaurants, that had done no business for two years, gladly welcomed them.

Whole families were to be seen awheel; fathers and mothers, accompanied by children of all ages. Loving couples, even elderly women and white-haired men, experienced the first semblance of pleasure and liberty since the 20th of August 1914. On Sundays, especially, this manifestation of reawakened life was delightful to see. From morn till eve the city avenues and those of the Bois were moving streams of radiant cyclists, eager to leave the town behind and taste the sweetness of summer under fragrant boughs, or in flowered fields where they would settle in parties for luncheon. Jeanne from the laiterie, Jacques from the butcher’s shop—hundreds of poor, tired young creatures, who slaved on weekdays to provide themselves and war-widowed mothers with the necessities of life, were all there, smiling and forgetting the sacrifices made to procure a cheap German wheel—sacrifices often betrayed in their hunger-pinched faces! But the privilege was not indulged in only by these; the aristocrats welcomed it as gladly, and innumerable smart men and women, deprived of their horses and cars, pedalled along by the side of Jeanne and Jacques as contentedly as they.

I have no exact knowledge of how many bicycles were sold in Belgium during that summer; but judging by the fact that one was procured by every individual in the capital able to ride and scrape together the price, many thousands must have been sold in Brussels alone—all provided by Germany! A large number of the poorer classes could not save the necessary sum until the summer was over, and cold, bad weather prevented them enjoying their hard-earned acquisitions. But they had something to look forward to for the coming summer, should the war continue—and there was then little prospect of it coming to an end!

These last, unfortunately, made their sacrifices in vain; for no sooner was everyone provided with a wheel, and the enormous demand, so cunningly created and provided for, had been satisfied, than the moment arrived for the sequel of Germany’s clever commercial coup!

Immediately an order was published that everyone possessing a bicycle should not only declare but deliver his tyres, as the rubber was needed by the army! Riding was forbidden, even to those who, after yielding their tyres, asked permission still to enjoy their wheels by using tyres of rope!

Thus was solved the mystery of that one instance of kindness towards a wronged people! The German army secured the rubber without robbing its own nation; and, moreover, enriched certain home manufacturers with the pathetic savings of many a Belgian girl and lad, since fallen a victim to tuberculosis—an epidemic then already beginning to ravage their country’s youth!

Of course the usual excuse was given for checking the use of bicycles: someone—who and how was not revealed!—had abused the privilege, therefore all should be denied it! But if, indeed, that abuse ever was committed, it must have been during the first weeks after permission to ride was given. No one, anxious to serve his country, or to escape, would have waited until the last importation of wheels had been disposed of! This, moreover, did not explain why permission was never again given, although during the two following summers there was no conceivable reason why those who asked to ride with rope tyres within a certain limited locality should be refused.

The whole affair was an abominable trick, subtly clever, with that sly and treacherous cleverness which won a vast advantage for the German army in the beginning, and has ever since characterized its policy.

The dark months of winter crept upon us; another joyless Christmas approached—a day suggesting not peace and good-will, but rather blasphemous mockery of all that Christ taught. One black day was like another, always throbbing with the more or less loud roar of distant cannon, stirred only when good news fanned to brief flame our almost extinguished hope. Only this, and the ever-new laws imposed by the enemy, made us realize we were yet alive, and roused us sufficiently to note what the day of the month might be.

Occasionally, however, we were awakened at dawn by a thunder of near-by cannon, and, until taught by experience, sprang from our beds thinking the Allies had come. But it was only to see puffs of exploding shell surrounding a bird-like form far up in the sky—which we recognized as a friendly aviator winging through the explosives toward a Zeppelin shed rather uncomfortably close to our house. Once, at dawn, several biplanes appeared bent upon destroying this monster civilian slayer. Brussels, still asleep, resounded to the thunder of cannon from the many points where high-angle guns were set, one of these points being a water-tower two hundred yards or so from us. The shooting was continuous; and puffs of smoke, as the shells burst, surrounded the air-craft so closely it seemed impossible that they could escape destruction. Fragments of shell rained upon our roof, and crashed through the garden trees, while we, in our night-clothes, leaned from windows watching the brave flyers through our glasses. Our hearts almost ceased to beat, fearing lest one should fall; for it appeared almost beyond hope that they could all escape that determined and well-directed fire. Presently one descended into full view, and, after circling about the Zeppelin shed, slackened speed just above it. Shells burst round him on every side, but the intrepid aviator paid no heed. As we watched, scarcely breathing, he plunged downward close to the shed—hesitated—then, apparently in no great hurry, soared up like a fearless eagle to safer heights, through a very cloud of bursting shells. Almost immediately there was a tremendous explosion, which we scarcely heeded, so intent were we on his escape. For what seemed hours, though it was probably not more than a few moments, we followed his flight amid a storm of attack that seemed to miss him at times only by a hair’s breadth.

In a villa facing ours dwelt a young American widow, who, with her two sons, as little clothed as we, was also watching the combat. One of the boys, as reckless of risk as he was indifferent to his attire, had crawled from a window, and stood, bare-footed, in pyjamas, on the roof cornice in great danger of being struck by falling bits of shell. The widow, wrought to uncontrollable excitement, called out as though the daring flyer could hear her: “For Heaven’s sake hurry!—Fly!—Oh, they will bring you down!—God have mercy on him! Spare him! Spare him!”

Her cries came thinly to us, through the thunderous din, and, though she and we all laughed over it later, at that moment of tension nothing impressed us as extraordinary or comic. Every sense was centred on that rising form, until it finally disappeared in the mist of higher ether. Had he been brought down we should have all felt it as a personal tragedy; for, although at that time America was still comfortably neutral, we who had witnessed Belgium’s martyrdom were little in sympathy with our country’s attitude.

But this took place earlier; before the spring of 1917 the Machiavellian intelligence ruling us is supposed to have devised a means whereby it hoped to check aerial assaults upon these cherished perils-to-unprotected-towns. Although the trick was beyond all things diabolical, many in Brussels, taught by experience the inhumanity of Prussian war-methods, believed it was done with deliberate intention to terrify the inhabitants into opposing Allied aerial attack.

As the Zeppelin, unfortunately, was absent from its shed when a well-directed bomb was dropped on it during this attack, another attempt to destroy it was made later. During the latter raid several shrapnel shells tore with direful effect through the city’s crowded streets. Many ghastly details reached us, but one account, given by an eye-witness, will serve to illustrate the vileness of a scheme which, if indeed intentional, can only be equalled by the sinking of the Lusitania and that shooting of the French wounded, openly recorded in the German papers, under the heading: “A day of honour for our troops”!

One of the shells, in its mad career through the city, struck a brewer’s wagon, killing the driver, and the oxen which drew it, and severely wounded a second man. A physician in the vicinity hastened to the spot; and with those who gathered about the scene of butchery came two German officers who appeared already prepared for the event.

“Ach!” exclaimed one of these, in a tone of compassionate regret; “you Belgians can thank the British and French for this! What is it to them how many innocent beings are sacrificed to their senseless attacks in a vain effort to cripple us!”

But, all unknown to the speaker, several tell-tale bits of the murderous missile, proving it to be of German origin, had already been gathered up and secreted by the Belgians present. The physician had one of these, and, unable to control his fury on hearing this malin interpretation of the tragedy, he turned on the officer, his face white and quivering with reckless passion: “Pas du tout!” he cried; “no French or English hand committed this crime! Here is the proof!” He revealed the damning fragment. “Avions do not drop shrapnel, and neither you nor anyone can deny where that was made!”

The officers scorned the suggestion, but withdrew, for they were unsupported by others in the midst of a silent but enraged crowd.

One feature in the affair, which encouraged the belief that it had been arranged purposely, was that German soldiers immediately took possession of each locality where damage was done, ridding it of every condemning particle of shell. But fragments enough have been preserved by the Belgians as proof of a deed worthy only of those who committed it.

In constant view of such trickery how could a neutral attitude of mind or heart be retained?

The men of the American Alimentation Commission came to Belgium as friendly towards Germany as towards any other nation. Several of them, indeed, were somewhat biased in favour of the Prussian army, and all as prone as were we ourselves, in the beginning, to doubt the accounts of their atrocities. But before they left I believe there was not one whose last trace of respect for the occupying Powers was not destroyed by what he had witnessed with his own eyes during his sojourn in the country. Very many, as the world knows, lost no time, after leaving Belgium, to reveal their outraged sentiments by joining the Allied forces. Even before America came in, several of these gave their lives in fighting a wrong they were forced to recognize, despite their original determination to view all from a fair war-basis, and not be influenced by mere hearsay.

And yet these men were more closely associated with the German officials than with Belgians. Their duties necessitated constant intercourse with the Government, and with those whose influence might easily have counterbalanced Belgian accusations. Those stationed in the Étape regions were constantly accompanied by a sub-officer. Day and night each had his “nurse,” as the boys called these military supervisors, at his side; ate with him, travelled with him, and slept near him! What more natural than that so intimate an association should strengthen their original admiration for the German army? But facts were too flagrantly against it. Little by little incidents, at first regarded as awful but possibly legitimate features of war, led to others, illegitimate and of enraging significance, gradually destroying, in these fair-minded men, all sympathy with the Central Powers.

As year followed year they saw these soi-disant defenders of their “Vaterland” bleeding a helpless country, and clinging, at all cost and by any means, to territory won through the use of poisonous gas and burning oil—brutalities never before known, and all fore-prepared, while the world was dreaming of peace!—saw them draining broken Belgium by outrageous taxation, and requisition of every kind, while doing their utmost to create internal strife between the Flemings and Walloons.

Very few neutrals at first could gauge the situation correctly in Brussels, where German argument and German lies were predominant. It was only their actions that opened our eyes, and the extraordinary advantages they so quickly attained, which gave evidence of an inexorable and vandalistic plan that could not have been brought to such perfection in a few months, nor even in a few years.

Only a fool or an all-forgiving angel could have lived under that domination and retained sympathy or respect for the nation it represented. Although noble individuals in Germany were probably as adverse as we to its pitiless barbarity and craft, the fact that no united voice in that great and prosperous country was raised against it, suggested that their number was too small to be of any avail. The first easy victories, the violation and crushing of a neutral land, seemed to have eclipsed the soul and intelligence of a people formerly so proud of their culture.

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