Liege on the Line of March Part 3

All the officers wear a tiny card-board map of Belgium about (3" x 4"), hung on their coat b.u.t.tons and every soldier has embossed on his belt plate "_Gott mit Uns._" At dinner the officers were very entertaining; the ice was somewhat broken, at least, we knew better what piece was safe clinging to and we managed to exchange some ideas. It is rather odd how few of these educated men speak French. In fact, it is so odd that it makes us suspicious and cautious. Monsieur J. attacked the captain with this question, as a leader, "when he thought the war would be over?" (This being the second week of it.) His answer was _net_ and forbade argument--"We shall be 'home' by Christmas, or Easter at the latest." But he did have the grace to congratulate the Belgian army on its stout defense of Liege, for instead of the two days given the Germans by their Emperor to capture it, they had been constrained to take nearly two weeks at it.

_August 16th, Sunday._

A warm, beautiful morning. As Madame de H. and I walked through the garden and the wood to the little convent ambulance, it was difficult not to contrast smiling Nature with the frightful scenes of which, in a few minutes, we would be a part. The awful stench of burned flesh met us half a block away and congealed my courage as I walked, for it permeates everything. We can even taste it, it clings in our hair when we go home and we are obliged to hang our nursing clothes out of the window all night. I felt as if I must run away from it and those terrible dressings, reeking with purulence, where ears and eyelids and lips come off and fingers and hands peel like a glove.

Then I thought of the patience of those brave fellows and the pain and awfulness of living it. The fort.i.tude and devotion of the village men and women are beyond praise--they come day after day to help in the nursing, some spending the night, turn and turn about. Especially the tenderness of the men for their "_camarades_" is one of the sweetest things I ever saw, for they are as gentle and capable in their care as any woman could possibly be.

Prussian troops continue to pa.s.s and it is a wonderfully impressive sight; infantry in gray-green khaki, singing, always singing their famous "_Wacht am Rhein_" and other folk songs: the _Uhlans_, on beautiful prancing horses, with their long lances and gray-blue capes fluttering in the wind; _cha.s.seurs_ in light green; "_Hussars de la Mort_" with the death's head emblem in the front of their high fur hats and endless companies of artillery with their huge field cannon, each drawn by six magnificent horses. On the gun carriages sit four gunners back to back, still as statues, with arms folded as if on parade. It was for all the world like a circus when the procession goes twice around the ring before commencing the serious business of the entertainment.

Dinner was gay tonight (one is obliged to make the best of a bad affair) and the officers as men of the world were interesting and in unusually good spirits.

The Captain, a little facetiously, took up the menu and, drawing a tiny note-book and pencil from his pocket, proceeded to copy it in French, soliciting Madame X.'s aid _en pa.s.sant_.

A curious fact occurred to me as I sat there looking down both sides of the table, how much alike they were--it seems as if they must even think the same thoughts to resemble each other so much. As their heads were closely cropped, outlines were baldly apparent, low forehead sloping back to a narrow crown and all set upon a bulwark of neck. They must surely have been struck in the same mould. Though forceful, none of them were good-looking except the young one, of whom I have spoken, and his face in repose was shockingly cruel. They are expecting marching orders in the morning and are probably eager to ride on to victory (?). They bade us good night and good-bye by kissing our hands as usual, a click of spurs, a military bow and very gracious thanks to Madame X. for her hospitality.

_August 17th, Monday._

About half-past three in the morning I was wakened from a sound sleep by a commotion in the court under my window. Impatient horses were pawing the ground and a voice exactly like a snarling dog was hurling out orders--I peeped out cautiously and saw that the snarling dog was the amiable captain who copied the menu last night.

The officers left at four A. M. Fort Lancin fell today and General Leman, commander-in-chief of the army here, was taken prisoner.

Thousands of soldiers have pa.s.sed as usual. In the afternoon a company of Prussians arrived, whose captain had mistaken the route, which put him in an abominable humor, having made his men march fifty miles out of their way and also risking a court-martial on his own account. He ordered Monsieur S. to open the garage door, in the hope of lodging his men there for the night. Unluckily the chauffeur, being absent, had the key, which plunged his Military Highness into a towering rage and he placed Monsieur S. at once under arrest between two soldiers, _baionnette-au-canon_, while the others battered in the door with the b.u.t.t of their guns. Not finding sufficient quarters for two hundred men, he marched Monsieur S. away, as guide, half a mile down the road to a neighbor's.

That excitement had hardly quieted down when another batch of officers arrived at dusk, demanding lodgings for the night. These men were a rough type, altogether different from the preceding ones. About eight o'clock as we, the women, were waiting in the library for dinner to be announced, we heard a tremendous stamping of heavy boots and spurs and a snarl of angry voices just over our heads. Baronne de H., brave little woman as she always proved herself to be, flew up the stairs in a flash and found her brothers at the end of the hall between two orderlies with fixed bayonets, trying to pacify seven officers who were disputing angrily and were just about to enter one of the private apartments--in fact their father's room. She addressed them in a few vehement words--"I forbid you to enter the room of my father, who has been dead only a week." Then she added that the other soldiers who had been here were gentlemen and that she expected them to be. They were cowed at once and all humility, begging pardon properly. They pleaded fatigue for their rudeness and said "certainly they expected to be gentlemen, too." Wasn't that comical? They were ill at ease and rather sullen at dinner: and such a dinner as we had!--glacial does not express it. The captain of the band spoke English, French, Russian and German, but he could not coax anybody into conversation, for we clung to "_Oui_," or "_Non_," and stopped there. More than that, a kind of rigid fascination fixed our attention on one of their number--the tallest and lankiest, who sat down at least two feet from the table and endeavored to serve himself like that. Every mouthful was fraught with tense anxiety (for us). Happily they went to bed early, the captain kissing our hands and asking Madame X. if she were used to that, it being the custom in Germany.

Hardly had they got under cover and we were alone again, when a hoa.r.s.e cry arose in the court--it was blood-curdling to us, as every sound these days is full of terror and possibilities. But it turned out to be only the cry of the sentry. There had been promiscuous shooting along the railroad in the village and all our brave soldiers tumbled out of bed, fell down the stair-case one after the other, buckling on swords as they went. It is the greatest wonder to me that we were not all shot on the spot when we stood there staring up, as one very young lieutenant descended three steps at a time with a revolver in one wobbly hand which was shaking like an aspen leaf, and a pair of field gla.s.ses in the other. I think the sudden excitement may have unnerved him and there is no doubt, this time, that the G.o.ds favored the innocent. That was the last we saw of our guests.

_August 18th, Tuesday._

This morning one of them came back for some personal things, princ.i.p.ally his watch, which, in the true, novel style, could not be found anywhere.

So the _Herr leutnant_ ordered a thorough search and said, with a grand air, to the housekeeper that if it could not be found he would be obliged to take one of the servant's as a forfeit. Fancy!

I can see the butler's poor, old, bowed legs, now, flying up the stair-case, with a bayonet stuck in his back to expedite matters. I do not know if this threat lent an added zest to the search, but fortunately someone had the happy thought to look under the mattress (where the officer had put it himself) and there was the ill-fated timepiece calmly ticking off German minutes. I think I forgot to tell you that since the invasion we retire at ten instead of eleven o'clock, having been advised to adopt Celtic time.

Prussian troops in khaki continue to pa.s.s; will they never cease? One's spine s.h.i.+vers at the sight of the endless, green snake which crawls along, insinuating its greedy length into the gardens of plenty. This morning four new officers came to the chateau; three of them were nondescript, but the fourth, to all appearances, was an Englishman, pure blood. He spoke English absolutely without accent and had a perfect English drawing-room air. It was as funny as an impersonation and as he had appeared on the scene alone, I believe his brothers-in-arms were almost suspicious of him. After a little the story came out. He is really a German, but has lived fifteen years in London. At the debut of the war he had been obliged to take up arms against a sea of troubles, or relinquish forever his right to go back to Baden, where his parents live. Naturally he chose the former (also probably thinking that "War"

was a word only) and allowed himself to be bored by circ.u.mstances. He told us some amusing tales of his having been already arrested three times for an English spy. Everybody here likes him very much and I welcomed him personally as the nearest approach to an Anglo-Saxon that I have seen in many months.

Monsieur J. and several of the representative men of the village, including _Monsieur le Cure_ (a little, fat, rosy-cheeked man, adored by his flock), were taken as hostages for twenty-four hours and had to sleep in the railroad station. It was nervously comical to see Monsieur J. starting off, his valet following with a mattress on his back and a box of sandwiches in his hand against the misery of the night. But it is not so amusing to be the victim of even a threat which at any moment may take the form of a sudden reality for no reason except to terrorize honest people who are defending their homes. The enemy's way of punis.h.i.+ng and evading future insurrection among the civilians is to take people as hostages and shoot them if necessary, or burn the houses.

This they have already done in several quarters in Liege. A few nights ago several students fired on some German officers in a cafe and the latters' revenge was instantaneous and terrible; they just stood eighteen men up in front of the University and shot them like dogs--then burned that section for blocks around.

Austrian artillery was pa.s.sing today with their great cannon drawn by automobiles. The wheels of the gun carriages are enormous and the cannon are the biggest things we have yet seen.

_August 19th, Wednesday._

Such an odd picking little noise, like a mouse, disturbed us at breakfast this A. M. Madame X. opened the door and was astonished to see a German soldier uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the telephone from the wall. Her obvious surprise moved the man to explain, which was unqualifiedly this--"Madame, permit me, but we need your telephone for field service."

I suppose he may as well have it anyway for nothing so modern and useful as telephones has existed for us since August 3rd.

A group of very surly officers have "taken over" Madame R.'s chateau down in the country. The moment they arrived night before last, the Colonel ordered her to bring out all her best wine, throwing her his soiled gloves to wash at the same time.

The patients at the Convent are beginning to show a little life now, though their poor, black faces are more grotesque than ever as an eye, here and there, begins to peep out from a crack in the crusted surface.

They have begun to talk after a fas.h.i.+on, though their poor, dried lips can hardly accomplish the task. Jean, the big fellow who jumped seven metres into the ditch from Fort Chaudefontaine when it blew up, died this morning, the result of a fractured skull.

French and German aeroplanes alike have been flying over the city, dropping the most sensational circulars of the victories of their particular armies. But the news is "_trop beau_"--one cannot believe it and probably it is only destined to encourage the soldiers. It appears that the officers tell their men all kinds of extraordinary tales, to give them heart for the fight, and the poor things believe (hearing French spoken here) that they are already in France, for yesterday one of them in a pa.s.sing train was heard demanding the Eiffel Tower. An officer admitted to Monsieur S. that Germany prints three newspapers--one for the officers, one for the soldiers, and one for imbeciles. I suppose the latter means us.

_August 22nd, Sat.u.r.day._

Bread is being rationed out now in the village and we are allowed only two small pieces at a meal. It seems to me that I never wanted one more slice so much in my life. The soldiers have cleared out the baker's supply and he cannot get any more flour.

Monsieur S. has bought a bicycle and goes into town every morning to find out about things. Sometimes it seems as if we could hardly wait until he gets back to lunch for the news. And oh! such terrible things are happening. Some funny incidents too, intersperse themselves from time to time. During the recounting of some of these awful tales of violence and revenge which we are hearing from the little villages the young footman's knees doubled right up and nearly let him down while he was serving the table and he is getting greener and greener from day to day. He becomes absolutely petrified when the officers address him and whispers out an unintelligible something as he vanishes through a door.

The horrible carnage at Namur has begun and we already have heard sickening accounts of it. The story, as we have had it by word of mouth, is that one of the seven forts capitulated (the city was evacuated), allowing the enemy to enter in over a tract of land which was literally sown with this famous, new _Poudre Turpin_ which exploded under the feet of whole regiments at once, and the forts completed the slaughter.

Troops, troops, always troops plodding along. Their att.i.tude could not be called determined for there is not enough mental action in it, though there does exist an indisputable tenacity which is appalling. How they lack that infectious _ardeur_, that splendid _elan_ which characterizes every little _poilu_! But they just plod on like a great machine, lacking intelligence in its parts, each vital, however, to the perfectly-fitted whole.

Madame X. and I felt as if we could not sit still another minute this afternoon and, safe, or no, we decided to take a walk on the mountainside. We could hear regiments approaching first by a faint buzzing in the distance which rounded out into song as it drew near; as an officer told us, the men often sing in four voices which is quite beautiful. Then, we became aware of a different noise, a sort of loose rumble, as if cohesion would presently not exist for the thing, whatever it was, that caused this new note. But it was not a note, it was a disturbance which grew and grew in proportions. Madame X. and I scurried up and down the paths trying to find a vista through the trees that would disclose this monster which was moving so protestingly along the road.

I imagined it would be snorting flame and its eyes smouldering fires, but instead its eyes were neat little windows with tidy curtains, for the monster turned out to be three diminutive houses on wheels drawn by a huge motor. What their end and purpose might be, is imaginable. If it is for the comfort of the High Command _en campagne_, the great clumsy procession rivaling the speed of a snail is a heap of trouble for a little luxury.

_August 24th, Monday._

Namur is taken by the Germans. Practically nothing remains of the city.

A German major who was brought, wounded, to Liege, said the battle was too frightful to narrate. He entered the city with one thousand men and left it with sixty-five. Just outside the forts, where he had been stationed with two hundred horses, three bombs fell upon them at the same moment and only seven of the poor beasts remained. His admiration for the pointing and firing of the Belgian and French cannon was unlimited.

Just before lunch this morning, two very ragged-looking individuals (Belgian civilians) came to the chateau. They were travel-stained indeed, just having made the journey on foot from Brussels and in a calmer era would have had some success in the role of common ordinary tramps. As it was, they excited a little curiosity by the suspicious way they had of looking about, and our first thought was spies until one of them, edging toward the outside of the group, made Baronne de H.