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A few yards away was another soldier, also seated in a wheeling chair, with a crippled leg – a big fine fellow he was. He told me his corps had been ambushed, and that out of 120 only something like twenty survived.

On all hands I heard all too much to show that the battle of Mons was a desperate affair. Two regiments suffered badly, but there was no marked disposition on the part of any of the soldiers with whom I chatted to enlarge upon the happenings of last week-end. Rather would they talk more freely of the awful atrocities perpetrated by the Germans.

“Too awful for words,” one said. “Their treatment of women will remain as a scandal as long as the world lasts. We shall never forget; we shall never forgive. I wish I was back again at the front. Englishmen have only got to realise what devilish crimes are being committed by these Germans to want to go and take a hand in the fight. Women were shot, and so were young girls. In fact, it did not seem to matter to the Germans who they killed, and they seemed to take a delight in burning houses and spreading terror everywhere.

“I have got one consolation, I helped to catch four German spies.”

In Hospital.

(2) At Belfast.

About 120 officers and men arrived in Belfast on August 31st, direct from the Continent. They were brought here, says the Daily Telegraph local correspondent, to be near their friends, for the men had been in Ulster for a long time before leaving for the front, being stationed in Belfast and later in Londonderry. They sailed from this city for the theatre of war on August 14th, to the number of 900. It was remarkable to note how many of them were injured in the legs and feet. All were conveyed to the hospital at the Victoria Military Barracks. The men were glad to see Belfast again, but those to whom I spoke will be bitterly disappointed if they do not get another opportunity for paying off their score against the Germans.

One soldier told me a plain straightforward story, without any embellishments. What made his tale doubly interesting was the fact that he spoke with the experience of a veteran, having gone through the South African War.

Where the Germans had the advantage, he said, was in the apparently endless number of reserves. No sooner did we dispose of one regiment than another regiment took its place. It just put me in mind of the Niagara Falls – the terrible rush threatening to carry everything before it.

No force on earth could have withstood that cataract, and the fact that our men only fell back a little was the best proof of their strength. At one stage there were, I am sure, six Germans to every one of us. Yet we held our ground, and would still have held it but for the fact that after we had dealt with the men before us another force came on, using the bodies of their dead comrades as a carpet.

The South African War was a picnic compared with this, and on the way home I now and again recoiled with horror as I thought of the awful spectacle which was witnessed before we left the front of piled-up bodies of the German dead. We lost heavily, but the German casualties must have been appalling.

You must remember that for almost twenty-four hours we bore the brunt of the attack, and the desperate fury with which the Germans fought showed that they believed if they were only once past the British forces the rest would be easy. Not only so, but I am sure we had the finest troops in the German army against us.

On the way out I heard some slighting comments passed on the German troops, and no doubt some of them are not worth much, but those thrown at us were very fine specimens indeed. I do not think they could have been beaten in that respect.

In Hospital.

(3) At Birmingham.

About 120 English soldiers who had been wounded in and around Mons arrived in Birmingham on September 1st, and were removed to the new university buildings at Bournbrook, where facilities have been provided for dealing with over 1,000 patients. The contingent was the first batch to arrive. Though terribly maimed, and looking broken and tired, the men were cheerful. About twenty had to be carried, but the majority of them were able to walk with assistance.

In the course of conversation with a Daily Telegraph reporter a number of the men spoke of the terrible character of the fighting. The Germans, one man said, outnumbered us by 100 to one. As we knocked them down, they simply filled up their gaps and came on as before.

One of the Suffolk men stated that very few were injured by shot wounds. Nearly all the mischief was done by shells. The Germans, he said, fired six at a time, and if you missed one you got the others.

One poor fellow, whose head was so smothered in bandages that his features could not be seen, remarked, “We could beat them with bladder-sticks if it were not for the shells, which were appalling. The effect could not be described.”

A private of the West Kent Regiment, who was through the Boer War, said there was never anything like the fighting at Mons in South Africa. That was a game of skittles by comparison.

They came at us, he said, in great masses. It was like shooting rabbits, only as fast as you shot one lot down another lot took their place. You couldn’t help hitting them. We had plenty of time to take aim, and if we weren’t reaching the Bisley standard all the time, we must have done a mighty lot of execution. As to their rifle fire, they couldn’t hit a haystack.

A sergeant gunner of the Royal Field Artillery, who was wounded at Tournai, owing to an injury to his jaw was unable to speak, but he wrote on a pad:

I was on a flank with my gun and fired about sixty rounds in forty minutes. We wanted support and could not get it. It was about 500 English trying to save a flank attack, against, honestly, I should say, 10,000. As fast as you shot them down more came. But for their aeroplanes they would be useless. I was firing for one hour at from 1,500 yards down to 700 yards, so you can tell what it was like.

In Hospital.

(4) At London.

All the heroism that has been displayed by British troops in the present war will never be known. A few individual cases may chance to be heard of. Others will be known only to the Recording Angel. Two instances of extraordinary bravery are mentioned by a couple of wounded soldiers lying in the London Hospital in the course of a narrative of their own adventures.

One of them, a splendid fellow of the Royal West Kent Regiment, told a Daily Telegraph reporter:

We were in a scrubby position just outside Mons from Saturday afternoon till Monday morning. After four hours each of our six big guns was put out of action. Either the gunners were killed or wounded, or the guns themselves damaged. For the rest of the time – that is, until Monday morning, when we retired – we had to stick the German fire without being able to retaliate. It was bad enough to stand this incessant banging away, but it made it worse not to be able to reply.

All day Sunday and all Sunday night the Germans continued to shrapnel us. At night it was just hellish. We had constructed some entrenchments, but it didn’t afford much cover and our losses were very heavy. On Monday we received the order to retire to the south of the town, and some hours later, when the roll-call was called, it was found that we had 300 dead alone, including four officers.

Then an extraordinary thing happened. Me and some of my pals began to dance. We were just dancing for joy at having escaped with our skins, and to forget the things we’d seen a bit, when bang! and there came a shell from the blue, which burst and got, I should think, quite twenty of us.

That’s how some of us got wounded, as we thought we had escaped. Then another half-dozen of us got wounded this way. Some of our boys went down a street near by, and found a basin and some water, and were washing their hands and faces when another shell burst above them and laid most of them out.

What happened to us happened to the Gloucesters. Their guns, too, were put out of action, and, like us, they had to stand the shell-fire for hours and hours before they were told to retire. What we would have done without our second in command I don’t know.

During the Sunday firing he got hit in the head. He had two wounds through the cap in the front and one or two behind, and lost a lot of blood. Two of our fellows helped to bind up his head, and offered to carry him back, but he said, “It isn’t so bad. I’ll be all right soon.” Despite his wounds and loss of blood, he carried on until we retired on Monday. Then, I think, they took him off to hospital.

A stalwart chap of the Cheshires here broke in.

Our Cheshire chaps were also badly cut up. Apart from the wounded, several men got concussion of the brain by the mere explosions. It was awful! Under cover of their murderous artillery fire, the German infantry advanced to within three and five hundred yards of our position. With that we were given the order to fix bayonets, and stood up for the charge. That did it for the German infantry! They turned tail and ran for their lives.

Our captain cried out, “Now you’ve got ’em, men!” But we hadn’t. Their artillery begins with that to fire more hellish than ever, and before you could almost think what to do a fresh lots of the “sausages” came along, and we had to beat a retreat.

During the retreat one of our sergeants was wounded and fell. With that our captain runs back and tries to lift him. As he was doing so he was struck in the foot, and fell over. We thought he was done for, but he scrambles up and drags the sergeant along until a couple of us chaps goes out to help ’em in. You should have seen his foot when he took his boot off – I mean the captain. It wasn’t half smashed.

How a number of British troops made a dash in the night to save some women and children from the Germans was told by Lance-corporal Tanner, of the 2nd Oxfordshire and Bucks Light Infantry. On the Sunday the regiment arrived at Mons.

We took up our position in the trenches, he said, and fought for some time. In the evening the order came to retire, and we marched back to Conde, with the intention of billeting for the night and having a rest. Suddenly, about midnight, we were ordered out, and set off to march to the village of Douai, some miles away, as news had reached us that the Germans were slaughtering the natives there.

It was a thrilling march in the darkness, across the unfamiliar country. We were liable to be attacked at any moment, of course, but everyone was keen on saving the women and children, and hurried on. We kept the sharpest lookout on all sides, but saw nothing of the enemy.

When we reached Douai a number of the inhabitants rushed out to meet us. They were overjoyed to see us, and speedily told what the Germans had done. They had killed a number of women and children. With fixed bayonets we advanced into the village, and we saw signs all around us of the cruelty of the enemy.

Private R. Wills, of the Highland Light Infantry, who also took part in the march to the village, here continued the story.

We found that most of the Germans had not waited for our arrival, and there were only a few left in the place. However, we made sure that none remained there.

We started a house-to-house search. Our men went into all the houses, and every now and then they found one or two of the enemy hiding in a corner or upstairs. Many of them surrendered at once, others did not.

When we had cleared the village, some of us lay down on the pavements, and snatched an hour’s sleep. At 3.30 we marched away again, having rid the place of the enemy, and, getting back to camp, were glad to turn in.

A sergeant of the Royal Field Artillery, who was wounded by shrapnel just outside Mons village, said that the German artillery fire was good; once the enemy’s gunners got the range they did well.

Their shooting was every bit as good as ours, and although our battery made excellent practice, three of our men were killed, and twenty out of thirty-six were wounded. I lay on the field all night, and was rescued the next morning. Fortunately, the Germans did not come and find me during those long hours of loneliness.

In such tales of these men in hospital, and in the letters they have written home, there is a common agreement that the German rifle shooting is beneath contempt – “they shoot from the hip and don’t seem to aim at anything in particular;” but their artillery practice is spoken of with respect and admiration. The German artillery is very good, writes Private Geradine, of the 1st Northumberland Fusiliers, but their aeroplanes help them a lot. It is a pretty sight to see the shells burst in the night, he adds – it’s like Guy Fawkes Day!

I like too, such robust cheerfulness and gay good-humour in face of the horrors of death as sounds through the letter of Sapper Bradley:

I have never seen our lads so cheery as they are under great trials. You couldn’t help being proud of them if you saw them lying in the trenches cracking jokes or smoking while they take pot shots at the Germans… We have very little spare time now, but what we have we pass by smoking concerts, sing-songs, and story-telling. Sometimes we have football for a change, with a German helmet for a ball, and to pass the time in the trenches have invented the game of guessing where the next German shell will drop. Sometimes we have bets on it, and the man who guesses correctly the greatest number of times takes the stakes.

And surely no less do I like the equally courageous but more sombre outlook of the Scottish Private who complained of the famous retreat from Mons, It was “Retire! retire! retire!” when our chaps were longing to be at them. But they didn’t swear about it, because being out there and seeing what we saw makes you feel religious.

I like that wonderful diary kept by a driver of the 4th Ammunition Column, 3rd section, R.F.A. It was sent over from Paris by Mr. Harold Ashton, The Daily News correspondent, and is as naïvely and minutely realistic as if it were a page out of Defoe. The driver’s interests are naturally centred in his horses, they hold the first place in his regard, the excitements of the war coming second. He records how he went from Hendon to Southampton on the 21st August:

Got horses on board all right, though the friskiest of them kicked a lot. Got to Havre safe. Food good – rabbit and potatoes and plenty of beer, not our English sort, but the colour of cyder. Us four enjoyed ourselves with the family, had a good time, and left ten o’clock next day well filled up. Our objective was Compiègne. We got through all right, watering our horses on the way from pumps and taps at private houses. The people were awful kind, giving us quantities of pears, and filling our water-bottles with beer. That was all right. Our welcome was splendid everywhere. At Compiègne we got into touch with the Germans. Very hot work. We marched from Compiègne about eleven o’clock on the 31st, which was Sunday. The way was hard. Terrible steep hills which knocked out our older and weaker horses. Collick broke out among them, too, and that was bad. We lost a good many… Slept until 5 a.m. and then marched on again, still retreating. Hot as – . Nothing to eat or drink. Plenty of tea, but nothing to boil it with. At last we got some dry biscuits and some tins of marmalade. Bill – , whose teeth were bad, went near mad with toothache after the jam… No dead horses, thank God, to-day. I hope we have checked that – collick, but my horse fell into a ditch going through the wood and could not get out for over an hour. I couldn’t go for help, because the Germans had got the range of the place and their shells were ripping overhead like blazes. Poor old Dick (the horse), he was that fagged out by the long march. At last I got him out and went on, and by luck managed to pick up my pals… The Germans were lambing in at us with their artillery, and poor old Dick got blowed up. I thank God I wasn’t on him just then. Sept. 2. – More fighting and worser than ever. I don’t believe we shall ever get to Paris… Now we come to Montagny, and fighting all the time. Rabbits and apples to eat gallore, but still no money, and no good if we had because we carnt spend it. Sept. 3. – We progressed this day four miles in twelve hours. Took the wrong road, and had to crawl about the woods on our stummoks like snakes to dodge the German snipers. We had one rifle between four of us, and took it in turns to have goes. We shot one blighter and took another prisoner. They was both half starved and covered with soars. Then the rifle jammed, and we had nothing to defend ourselves with. At last we found the main body again. They wanted more horses, and we were just bringing them up and putting them to the guns when a German areyplane came over us and flue round pretty low. The troops tried to fetch him down, and some bullets went through the wings, but then he got too high. He dropped a bomb in the middle of us, but it exploded very weak and nobody was hurt. Next day we started on a night march, and got to Lagny Thorigny, and camped outside the town, where the people fed us on rabbits again. I said I was sick of rabbits, and me and Bill walked acrost to a farmhouse and borrowed three chickens, which we cooked. It was fine… Outside Lagny there was more fierce fighting – 20 miles of it – and the Germans were shot down like birds. Sept. 3 (continued). – Firing is still going on, but it is not so fierce, though scouts have come in and told us there are 10,000 Germans round us this day. To-night I got two ounces of Navy Cut. It was prime. Sept. 8. – We are marching on further away from Paris. We shall never get there, I guess. Sept. 12. – In the village of Crecy. Plenty of food and houses to sleep into. Here we have got to stay until further orders. Collick still very bad.

The calm matter-of-fact air with which he encounters whatever comes to him, the keen joy he takes in small pleasures by the way; his philosophic acceptance of the fate of “poor old Dick” – the whole thing is so unruffled, so self-possessed, so Pepysian in its egoism and so artlessly humorous that one hopes this phlegmatic driver will keep a full diary of his campaignings, and that Mr. Ashton will secure and publish it.

III
The Destruction of Louvain

 
“Such food a tyrant’s appetite demands.”
 

Wordsworth.

The stupid arrogance of the German military caste has always made them ridiculous in the eyes of decent human creatures; it was surprising, amusing, and yet saddening, too, to see an intelligent people strutting and playing such war-paint-and-feathers tricks before high heaven, but it appears that the primitive impulses that survive in their character are stronger and go deeper than we had suspected. There are brave and chivalrous spirits among Germany’s officers and men; that goes without saying; but the savage and senseless barbarities that have marked her conduct of the present war will make her name a byword for infamy as long as it is remembered. There seems no doubt – the charges are too many and too widely spread – that her troops have murdered the wounded, have shot down women and children, have even used them as shields, driving them in front of their firing line; they have ruthlessly murdered unarmed civilians, and have blasted farmsteads and villages into ashes on the flimsiest provocation; sometimes, so far as one can learn, without waiting for any provocation whatever. Even if their hands were clean of that innocent blood, the wanton, insensate destruction of such a city as Louvain is sufficient of itself to put them outside the pale of civilised societies. No doubt they were smarting with humiliation that they had been so long delayed breaking through the stubborn opposition of the Belgians at Liège; but Louvain was an unfortified city and they were allowed to take peaceable possession of it. Nevertheless, on August 25th whilst the fighting round Mons was at its hottest and Russia was sweeping farther and farther over the frontiers of East Prussia, in some sort of burst of vengeful frenzy they laid one of the loveliest old cities of the world in ruins, burnt or shattered most of its priceless art treasures, and left its citizens homeless. Of course they have been busy ever since trying to cover up their shame with excuses, but such a wanton crime is too great and too glaringly obvious to be hidden or excused.

Four impressively realistic descriptions of what happened when the Germans thus went mad in Louvain have been published in the Daily Telegraph:

1. From a Daily Telegraph Folkestone Correspondent, Saturday, August 29th:

Among the refugees arriving here to-day were women and children from Louvain and soldiers from Liège, all narrating thrilling adventures. Some of the refugees had obviously hurriedly deserted their homes, wrapping a few of their belongings in sheets of newspaper.

One woman from Louvain tore down the curtains from her windows, wrapped them round some wearing apparel, and ran from her house with her two children. In the street she became involved in a stampede of men, women, and children tearing away from the burning town, whither she knew not. This woman’s story was so disjointed, so interspersed with hysterical sobs and exclamations, that it is impossible to make a full and coherent narrative of it. Periodically she clasped her children, gazed round upon the English faces, and thanked God and bemoaned her fate alternately.

Although suffering from extreme nervous excitement, another woman had intervals of comparative calmness during which she described her experiences as follows:

“Ah! m’sieu,” she exclaimed, “I will tell you, yes, of the burning of Louvain. We had pulled down some of the buildings so that the Germans should not mount guns on them when they came. I believe that was the reason. We were in a state of terror because we had heard of the cruelties of the Germans.”

Every time the poor woman referred to the Germans she paused to utter maledictions upon them.

“Well,” she proceeded, “they came, and all we had heard about them was not so bad as we experienced. In the streets people were cruelly butchered, and then on all sides flames began to rise. We were prepared for what we had regarded as the worst, but never had we anticipated that they would burn us in our homes.

“People rushed about frantic to save their property. Pictures of relatives were snatched from the walls, clothing was seized, and the people were demented.

“What was the excuse given? Well, they said our people had shot at them, but that was absolutely untrue. The real reason was the pulling down of the buildings. My house was burning when I left it with my three children, and here I am with them safe in England, beautiful England. But what we have suffered! We were part of a crowd which left the burning town, and kept walking without knowing where we were going. Miles and miles we trudged, I am told we walked over seventy miles before we came to a railway. I never regarded a railway as I did then. I wanted to bow down and kiss the rails. I fell exhausted, having carried my children in turn. Footsore, broken-hearted, after the first joy of sighting the railway, I felt my head whirling, and I wondered whether it was all worth while. Then I thought of my deliverance, and thanked God.

“What did Louvain look like? Like what it was, a mass of flame devouring our homes, our property – to some, perhaps, our relatives. It was pitiful to behold. Most of us women were deprived of our husbands. They had either fallen or were fighting for their country. In the town everybody who offered any opposition was killed, and everyone found to be armed in any way was shot. Wives saw their husbands shot in the streets.

“I saw the burgomaster shot, and I saw another man dragged roughly away from his weeping wife and children and shot through the head. Well, we got a train and reached Boulogne, and now for the first time we feel really safe.”

* * * * *

2. From a Daily Telegraph Rotterdam correspondent, Sunday, August 30th.

The following account of the appalling and ruthless sacking of Louvain by the Germans is given by a representative of the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, who himself witnessed the outrages:

I arrived at Louvain on Tuesday afternoon, and, accompanied by a German officer, made my way through the town. Near the station were the Commander and Staff and many of the military, for a food and ammunition train had just arrived. Suddenly shots rang out from houses in the neighbourhood of the station. In a moment the shooting was taken up from houses all over the town.

From the window of the third floor of an hotel opposite the station a machine gun opened fire. It was impossible to know which of the civilians had taken part in the shooting, and from which houses they had fired. Therefore the soldiers went into all the houses, and immediately there followed the most terrible scenes of street fighting. Every single civilian found with weapons, or suspected of firing, was put to death on the spot. The innocent suffered with the guilty.

There was no time for exhaustive inquiry. Old men, sick people, women were shot. In the meanwhile, part of the town was shelled by artillery. Many buildings were set on fire by the shells. On others petrol was poured and a match applied. The German officer advised me to go away, as several houses being still intact more firing was expected.

Under a strong escort two groups of men and women arrived, each a hundred strong. They were hostages. They were stood in rows by the station, and every time a soldier was shot in the town ten of these pitiful civilians were slaughtered. There was no mercy. Tears and pleadings were in vain. The good suffered with the bad. At night the scene was terrible, burning buildings shedding a lurid glow over this town, which was running with tears of blood.

This was no time for sleep. The sight of this terrible awfulness drove away all thoughts and desire for rest. Towards dawn the soldiers took possession of all buildings which had not been destroyed.

With the rising of the sun I walked on the boulevards, and saw them strewn with bodies, many of them being of old people and priests. Leaving Louvain for Tirlemont one passed continuously through utterly devastated country.

* * * * *

A Dutchman who escaped from Louvain says that when the German artillery began to demolish the houses and the German soldiers began looting everything he and his little son hid in a cellar beneath a pile of pneumatic tyres. One woman took refuge in a pit, in which water was up to her waist. Such was the terrible plight of the civilians in Louvain. Peeping out they saw that neighbours had been driven to the roof of a burning building, where they perished.

While still concealed in the cellar the Dutchman and his son discovered to their horror that the house above them was in flames. The situation was terrible, as the people who dared to leave their houses were shot like rabbits leaving burrows. They heard floor by floor, and then the roof, crash down above them. The situation was desperate. It was impossible to remain in the cellar. Driven out by dire necessity, they fled. They were immediately stopped by military rifles at the “present.”

“Do not fire, I am German,” said the Dutchman in German, seized with a sudden inspiration. This secured his safe conduct to the railway station. The journey through the town was, said this refugee, “like walking through hell.” From burning houses he heard agonised cries of those perishing in the conflagrations. While he was waiting at the station fifty people arrived there, driven by troops, who asserted that they found them hiding in houses from which shots had been fired. These people swore by all they held sacred they were innocent, but notwithstanding all were shot. The Dutchman is of opinion that the first firing was not by civilians, but by the German outpost on German soldiers retreating to Louvain from Malines.

Note:– There is no confirmation whatever of the Dutch correspondent’s assertion with regard to the firing on the German troops. On the contrary it has been expressly said by the Belgian Government that the Germans fired on their own men by mistake.

3. From a Daily Telegraph Rotterdam Correspondent, Monday, August 31st:

“With a crowd of other men, I was marched out of Louvain, and at nightfall ordered into a church,” said an escaped Dutchman to a Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant representative. “All was dark, till suddenly, through the windows, I saw the lurid glow of the neighbouring burning houses. I heard the agonised cries of people tortured by the flames. Six priests moved among us, giving absolution. Next morning the priests were shot – why, I know not. We were released, and allowed to go to Malines. We were compelled to walk with our hands in the air for fear of arms being concealed.”

* * * * *

A Dutchman who has arrived at Breda from Louvain gives the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant the following account of the massacre:

Several German soldiers were billeted on us, and just as we were sitting down to the midday meal on August 25th the alarm was sounded and the soldiers rushed out. Immediately firing started, and, knowing the terrible consequences of civilians appearing in the streets at such times, we sought refuge in the cellar. Next morning we attempted to reach the railway station. We were arrested.

My wife was taken away from me, and the Mayor, the Principal of the University, and I, with other men, were taken to a goods shed and our hands bound. I saw 300 men and boys marched to the corner of the Boulevarde van Tienen, and every one was massacred. The heads of police were shot. We were then marched towards Herent, and on the way the soldiers thought the enemy was approaching, and ordered us to kneel down. Then they took cover behind us. Only after many such hardships were we permitted to return to Louvain and escape by train.

4. From a Daily Telegraph Rotterdam correspondent, Wednesday, September 2nd: