Drop Cap A

AS may be seen, existence did not improve with time. Each month the situation became darker and more alarming; and, after the United States declared war, the few Americans, we among them, obliged to remain in Brussels were hated by the occupying powers quite as cordially as the English. But we who represented a nation not only mighty in wealth and man-power, but of vast commercial importance to Germany, were treated with far greater consideration than the Belgians. Nevertheless, after the United States Minister, Consul, and entire diplomatic corps departed, we felt more or less at the mercy of that bullying tendency which power always brings out in the Prussian military character.

The United States Consul, Mr. Ethelbert Watts—a man known for his tactful handling of difficult situations and trained in diplomacy by many years of service in the greater capitals—told me an instance of this characteristic.

It was at the beginning of the third year of war. Among the forlorn creatures he took under his protection was a young lad below military age, a Belgian on the paternal side, whose mother, a widow American-born, was then in the States. The lad and his sister had been left in Brussels to await her return, but as she was unable to do so, the two were soon reduced to deplorable straits. The sister found a home through marriage, but no other improvement of circumstances. The boy was taken into the consulate to assure him some means of support, besides what the Consul personally allowed him. But when the Germans began to seize young civilians, and send them to work in the trenches or in Germany, the boy’s mother sent heart-broken appeals to have her son, delicate and wholly unfit for such labour, shipped on to join her. Although this appeared hopeless, the Consul, as representative of a country still neutral, did his best to accomplish it. After much labour and long argument he succeeded; the youth received a pass, and was ready to leave on a certain date.

The evening before his departure for Holland, the Consul received a hastily-scrawled note from the lad, stating that he had been arrested, and was then locked up, he knew not why. It was too late to do anything that evening, but the following morning the Consul went to German headquarters to obtain an explanation.

He was received by a stout, red-faced superior officer, who at first refused to answer questions, but finally announced that the boy was suspected of espionage.

“May I ask upon what ground?” the Consul demanded politely.

“Upon several suspicious indications,” was the evasive reply; “he must be held for further examination.”

“But his passage to America is booked for the day after to-morrow,” urged the Consul. “He must leave Brussels to-day if he is to catch the ship.”

The other shrugged, saying indifferently, “I regret that is impossible.”

“But his pass has been given him, sir, and as I have personally vouched for his integrity, I consider it only fair you should tell me on what ’suspicious indications’ you hold him.”

After a lengthy and needless discussion, it was asserted that the boy’s notebook betrayed he had carried letters, and delivered them to several persons in the city.

At this Mr. Watts looked amazed. “Certainly,” he retorted; “he was in my employ for that purpose, and I can prove to you that every letter he conveyed related to legitimate consular business.”

After some more wrangling the notebook was produced, and this proven to be true, but the stubborn tyrant showed no sign of yielding. The proof could not be held as satisfactory until investigated. And so forth and so forth, until, after another half-hour of futile talk, the officer suddenly announced that the boy could on no condition be liberated without the payment of a fine.

“It will be a matter of two thousand francs or so,” he complacently added, confident of adding this amount to sums extorted daily from the inhabitants on one pretence or another. “Of course, as the boy has no means, payment may be made by anyone who....”

There he was abruptly stopped, for the American’s rage, already at boiling-point, could no longer be controlled. Although a less robust and considerably older man, the Consul sprang aggressively to his feet.

“Not one centime shall be paid!” he cried, shaking a defiant finger under the officer’s very nose; “and if that boy is not liberated to-day, my Government shall hear of the matter in every detail by cable!”

His face was white, and the flame in his eyes drove some red from the Prussian’s face. The latter’s tactics immediately changed. “Come, come, sir; no need to lose your temper,” he remonstrated, in a voice now devoid of its former dictatorial tone. “Let us talk it over quietly; perhaps we may....”

“No,” interrupted the Consul. “I have talked for over an hour, and have said all I have to say. This is my last word on the subject—good morning!”

As it was then luncheon-time, he returned to his residence, scarcely hoping for a satisfactory settlement of the matter, but determined, should it be denied, to carry out his threat.

This proved unnecessary, for, on going to his office an hour or so later, he found the boy there to greet him, and sent him off to Holland that evening.

This incident serves to show the mental attitude of the powers then dominating Belgium, and also explains the consideration, comparatively speaking, shown to Americans. Belgium was at their mercy, and, owing to sufferings inflicted, more or less outwardly submissive, since those who betrayed the least resistance were cast into prison with no hope of being avenged, at any definite period, by their exiled Government. It also demonstrates that worst of all the evil qualities developed by militarism in the German who wore a uniform—the readiness to crush the weak and to respect firm and fearless defiance in the strong. This quality, manifested even in peace-time—among the police, for instance, and other officials in Berlin—is peculiarly galling to foreigners.

In October 1917 another copper raid took place, and our homes were again subjected to armed invasion. We were now ordered to deliver the beds we slept on, if brass, our chandeliers, bathroom fittings, and all ornamentation in brass or copper with which our houses were embellished—to dismount and convey them to the enemy without a murmur. This, after all kitchen-utensils and many other necessaries had already been claimed! And, strangest of all, while this robbery of private houses was going on, many shops in the city remained well stocked with all manner of things, in brass and copper, which, being new and marketable, were left for a later seizure, to be shipped to Germany for sale!

Machinery of all sorts was also taken; the before-mentioned steel manufacturer of Bruges told me how he was robbed of a vast and very valuable plant, of which some important portions had been purchased in Germany just before the war. Military engineers came to look over the place, noted down the more valuable fittings, and informed him that men would come to dismount them the following day. They arrived as predicted, and their chief was the very man originally sent to set them up by the German firm who had sold our friend the machines! A week or two later another representative of this same firm had the audacity to present himself before the ruined manufacturer and try to negotiate with him for the purchase of new machinery after the war!

It may be the recognized right of an occupying army to demand what it urgently needs and cannot otherwise procure, but in Belgium there was no question of right or need; everything was taken, not only copper and machinery, but silverware, clothing, and articles of artistic worth, which could be of no possible use to the army; and, from Bruges and other places, many priceless paintings, and other treasures of artistic and historical value.

An explanation of this latter feature of the general and systematic looting was given rather dramatically by one of the German soldiers engaged in rifling a house. It was witnessed by a friend of mine. The house adjoined that of my friend, and he, expecting his turn would come next, watched to learn what he must hide while all sorts of metal objects were brought forth and hurled into a van waiting to receive them.

Presently one of the soldiers, acting according to orders, came out bearing a silver tray, on which was an exquisite tea-set of the same metal. He carried it with care toward the van, paused, and examined it pensively. Then, after brief deliberation, he set it down on the pavement, took two of the shining objects, a teapot and cream-jug, and savagely beat them together until no vestige of their fair form remained. After throwing these into the van, he did the same by the others, and finally trod on the tray, destroying it with his heavy, iron-nailed boots. A second soldier, coming laden from the house, paused to watch him in amazement.

“What are you doing that for?” he asked.

The other, taking up the mutilated tray, glanced at him with flaming eyes.

“There’s no need for the officers to have these pretty things!” he growled, and tossed it into the van.

Another man, Monsieur de R., told me the following interesting experience:

His country house, stocked with things of beauty and value, accumulated during many years of travel, was occupied and pillaged when the German army, drunk with the temporary success of their first onslaught, were pursuing bandit methods through the country. Everything was taken: pictures and other almost priceless works of art, silver, glass-ware, even linen and clothing. What could not be removed was cut through with swords or otherwise destroyed, and the chÂteau, after sheltering troops for some time, left in a deplorable state of wreckage and filth. The park was damaged by horses, and many of the fine old trees cut down for firewood. Monsieur de R. bore the loss with that amazing stoic endurance manifested throughout by the Belgians. His only remark at the time was: “It is sad; but—que voulez-vous? We are at their mercy, and they have neither mercy nor conscience!”

But that all Germans are not devoid of these qualities, he had, a few weeks later rather astounding proof.

One day the card of a lady whom he did not know was presented to him at his Brussels residence, accompanied by a request to speak with him privately upon an urgent matter. As the name was German, he hesitated; but curiosity impelled him to receive the mysterious visitor. She proved to be a young and refined woman, very shy, and evidently greatly agitated.

After returning his cold bow she came to the point at once: “I have come to tell you, Monsieur, that many of the things taken from your chÂteau were sent on to me in Germany.”

“Vraiment?” he replied, with a scarcely perceptible smile of ironic wonderment.

“Yes; they were sent to me by my fiancÉ, the officer who—obtained them from your house.” Her lips trembled as she sought for a less objectionable word than “stole” to express the deed. “I am having them all returned to you—every item. They have not even been unpacked.”

“Ah!” The Belgian stared, unable to imagine the object of this astounding statement from one of a race he believed devoid of honour.

But, without a word of encouragement, the noble girl related her story in a brave but unsteady voice, broken, toward the end, by tears that did much to soften his bitter feelings. The objects referred to, carefully packed in cases, had reached her after a letter from her fiancÉ relating how he had procured them. How he put it, she did not reveal; but her reply was a determined and high-spirited refusal to accept them. She had come to Brussels in order personally to see the victim of this robbery, and obtain his word of honour that he would never divulge her fiancÉ’s name in connection with the affair.

My friend was so greatly impressed and touched by the admirable courage and fineness of her confession, that he readily gave the promise, and I believe no power could force him to break it!

---