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A Dutchman who has just arrived at Breda from Louvain gives the following vivid description of his terrible experiences in Louvain, where he was present at the burning of the city:

We Dutchmen in Louvain at first had nothing to fear from the German soldiers, but all the houses abandoned by their owners were ransacked, notwithstanding the warnings from the military authorities forbidding the troops to pillage. In Louvain, as in all other towns they have occupied, the Germans imprisoned as hostages of war the Burgomaster, two magistrates, and a number of influential citizens.

Before the Germans entered the town the Civic Guard had been disarmed, and all weapons in the possession of the population had to be given up. Even toy guns and toy pistols and precious collections of old weapons, bows and arrows, and other antique arms useless for any kind of modern warfare had to be surrendered, and all these things – sometimes of great personal value to the owner – have since been destroyed by the Germans. The value of one single private collection has been estimated at about £1,000. From the pulpits the priests urged the people to keep calm, as that was the only way to prevent harm being done to them.

A few days after the entry of the German troops, the military authorities agreed to cease quartering their men in private houses, in return for a payment of 100,000 francs (£4,000) per day. On some houses between forty and fifty men had been billeted. After the first payment of the voluntary contribution the soldiers camped in the open or in the public buildings. The beautiful rooms in the Town Hall, where the civil marriages take place, were used as a stable for cavalry horses.

At first everything the soldiers bought was paid for in cash or promissory notes, but later this was altered. Soldiers came and asked for change, and when this was handed to them they tendered in return for the hard cash a piece of paper – a kind of receipt.

On Sunday, the 23rd, I and some other influential people in the town were roused from our beds. We were informed that an order had been given that 250 mattresses, 200 lbs. of coffee, 250 loaves of bread, and 500 eggs, must be on the market-place within an hour. On turning out we found the Burgomaster standing on the market-place, and crowds of citizens, half naked, or in their night attire, carrying everything they could lay hands on to the market, that no harm might befall their Burgomaster. After this had been done the German officer in command told us that his orders had been misinterpreted, and that he only wanted the mattresses.

On Tuesday, the 25th, many troops left the town. We had a few soldiers in our house. At six o’clock, when everything was ready for dinner, alarm signals sounded, and the soldiers rushed through the streets, shots whistled through the air, cries and groans arose on all sides; but we did not dare leave our house, and took refuge in the cellar, where we stayed through long and fearful hours. Our shelter was lighted up by the reflection from the burning houses. The firing continued unceasingly, and we feared that at any moment our houses would be burnt over our heads. At break of day I crawled from the cellar to the street door, and saw nothing but a raging sea of fire.

At nine o’clock the shooting diminished, and we resolved to make a dash to the station. Abandoning our home and all our goods except what we could carry, and taking all the money we had, we rushed out. What we saw on our way to the station is hardly describable, everything was burning, the streets were covered with bodies shot dead and half-burnt. Everywhere proclamations had been posted, summoning every man to assist in quenching the flames, and the women and children to stay inside the houses. The station was crowded with fugitives, and I was just trying to show an officer my legitimation papers when the soldiers separated me from my wife and children.

All protests were useless, and a lot of us were marched off to a big shed in the goods yard, from where we could see the finest buildings of the city, the most beautiful historical monuments, being burned down.

Shortly afterwards German soldiers drove before them 300 men and lads to the corner of the Boulevard van Tienen and the Maria Theresia Street, opposite the Café Vermalen. There they were shot. The sight filled us with horror. The Burgomaster, two magistrates, the Rector of the University, and all police officials had been shot already.

With our hands bound behind our backs we were then marched off by the soldiers, still without having seen our wives or children. We went through the Juste de Litsh Street, along the Diester Boulevard, across the Vaart and up the hill.

From the Mont Cesar we had a full view of the burning town, St. Peter in flames, while the troops incessantly sent shot after shot into the unfortunate town. We came through the village of Herent – one single heap of ruins – where another troop of prisoners, including half-a-dozen priests, joined us. Suddenly, about ten o’clock, evidently as the result of some false alarm, we were ordered to kneel down, and the soldiers stood behind us with their rifles ready to fire, using us as a shield. But fortunately for us nothing happened.

After a delay of half-an-hour, our march was continued. No conversation was allowed, and the soldiers continually maltreated us. One soldier struck me with all his might with the heavy butt-end of his rifle. I could hardly walk any further, but I had to. We were choked with thirst, but the Germans wasted their drinking water without offering us a drop.

At seven o’clock we arrived at Camperhout, en route for Malines. We saw many half-burnt dead bodies – men, women, and children. Frightened to death and half-starved, we were locked up in the church, and there later joined by another troop of prisoners from the surrounding villages.

At ten o’clock the church was lighted up by burning houses. Again shots whistled through the air, followed by cries and groans.

At five o’clock next morning, all the priests were taken out by the soldiers and shot, together with eight Belgian soldiers, six cyclists, and two gamekeepers. Then the officer told us that we could go back to Louvain. This we did, but only to be recaptured by other soldiers, who brought us back to Camperhout. From there we were marched to Malines, not by the high road, but along the river. Some of the party fell into the water, but all were rescued. After thirty-six hours of ceaseless excitement and danger we arrived at Malines, where we were able to buy some food, and from there I escaped to Holland. I still do not know where my wife and children are. —Reuter’s Special Service.

So far as available evidence goes, it seems clear enough that by some misunderstanding the German soldiers fired upon each other in the town, and then made the unhappy townsfolk pay the price of their tragic blundering. There are hopes that the beautiful old Hotel de Ville escaped the general holocaust; otherwise Louvain and its ancient glories of art and architecture are things of the past.

“Louvain is no longer anything but a heap of cinders… In the name of Europe, of which you have till now been one of the most illustrious champions,” writes the well-known French novelist, Romain Roland, in an open letter addressed to the German dramatist, Gerhart Hauptmann, “in the name of civilisation, for which the greatest of men have been fighting for centuries – in the name of the very honor of the Germanic race, I adjure you, Gerhart Hauptmann, and the German intellectual élite, among whom I count so many friends, to protest against this crime. If you do not, it can only mean one of two things, either that you approve, or that you are impotent to raise your voice against the Huns who rule you. In the latter case, how can you still pretend that you are fighting for the cause of human liberty and progress?.. Are you the descendants of Goethe, or of Attila?”

IV
The Fight in the North Sea

 
“Strong Mother of a Lion line,
Be proud of these strong sons of thine.”
 

Tennyson.

In the three weeks that followed on the declaration of war, tidings came to us from time to time of how our ships were chasing and sinking the enemy’s cruisers, capturing his merchantmen and keeping the ocean-highways clear for our own and neutral commerce; but no word reached us from the great British fleet that was keeping watch and ward in the North Sea, waiting sleeplessly for the German Navy that was sheltered behind the impregnable fort of Heligoland to dash out and make its loudly threatened raid upon our coasts. We heard no word of those guardian sailormen, but we slept peacefully in our beds at night, confident in their strength, their courage, their alertness. Then suddenly, on the 28th August, whilst the British and French armies were in the heat of their strategic retreat from Mons, news of our seamen’s dashing fight and victory in the North Sea flashed through the land. They had grown weary of waiting, and as the German was too discreet to venture forth to the attack they had slipped into his fastness under cover of the dark and hunted him out. Until it is possible to compile a connected, orderly narrative, the tale of that brilliant engagement is best told in the letters of the men who had part in it:

Letter 22. – From Albert Roper, first-class petty officer of H.M. cruiser “Talbot,” to his brother at Leeds:

I cannot give you any news about our movements. It is against the rules to do so, and it’s a jolly good job, too, for if it was not so, things would leak out, and that is just what we do not want. We are waiting patiently for Willie’s fleet to come out to enable our chaps to have a little practice. We try to make ourselves as happy as we can in the shape of a sing-song occasionally. These evenings are well appreciated.

* * * * *

Letter 23. – From Seaman Wilson, of the “Bacchante,” to his wife at Hunslet:

You will have read of our victory in the North Sea. It was fine. Our ship brought the dead and wounded and the prisoners back. A grim job it was, too. I only wish the whole German fleet would come out. We may get a chance of coming home soon. Their firing is rotten, whilst our men behind the guns are perfect. They get a hit every time.

The bounders won’t come out. That was the reason our ships had to try and drive them out. You see the place is all mined, and if a ship runs into one of these mines it means destruction.

The commander of the Liberty, a torpedo boat destroyer, asked his ship’s company if they would volunteer to go up Kiel Harbour with him, and every man said “Yes,” although it looked certain death. Up they went, and got under the forts of Heligoland and let rip at the German cruisers in the harbour. One of the wounded sailors of the Liberty told me that the shells fired at them were enough to sink a fleet. Our ship had only one torpedo and one round of ammunition left. So they turned round to come out, when a shrapnel shell struck the Liberty’s mast, killing the gallant commander and three others. The coxswain, although wounded, brought the ship safely to our fleet that was waiting outside. We pray to God that we may come off victorious, and I am confident we shall, as every man jack in the fleet has the heart of a lion.

* * * * *

Letter 24. – From a Welsh gunner on the “Arethusa”:

Just a few lines to let you know how the war is going on. I cannot say much, as correspondence is strictly secret and letters are likely to be opened. The Commodore turned over to this ship last Wednesday, and we were in action on Friday at 7.45 a.m. and finished a stiff eight-hours’ engagement, our loss being eleven killed and fifteen injured in this ship alone.

We were done after the fight, engines disabled, and had to be towed to Chatham. One man was all that was left at my gun. But still, after all, we saw them off. We blew them to – . Three fights we had. As soon as we are patched up we shall be off again.

* * * * *

Letter 25. – From Gunner John Meekly, of Leeds:

Been in battle, and, wonder of wonders, haven’t scored a scratch. My ship, as you know, is the Arethusa– “Saucy Arethusa” as history knows her. She was the first there, and the first that shot home. It was her that made them come out, and her that took the most prominent part, as all the ship’s company know only too well. Now we are in dry dock.

We had to sacrifice ourselves almost to do what we did do – to get them out of their shells. Not only were submarines and mines a menace, but also the fire from the forts. We got within their range, and our ship suffered the most. We have got a fearless admiral, and at the same time a decent fellow.

I saw an account in the papers when we got in dock, and I was very pleased with it, because another ship had been mistaken for us. The name of our commodore is Tyrwhitt.

* * * * *

Letter 26. – From Midshipman Hartley, of H.M. battle-cruiser “Lion,” to his parents at Burton-on-Trent:

At last we have had a taste of gunfire, but it was only a taste. We ran into three light German cruisers. Two of them were sunk, and one managed to make off in a sinking condition and badly on fire forward and aft. Of course, their guns had about the same effect on us as a daisy air-rifle. The funny thing, which you should have seen, was all the stokers grubbing about after the action looking for bits of shell.

The Germans fought awfully well and bravely, but the poor beggars hadn’t a dog’s chance of living through it. The Mainz was the name of one of those sunk. Two of their destroyers were also sunk.

* * * * *

Letter 27. – From a Scottish seaman (Published in “The Scotsman”):

It was a sight worth seeing. We chased two German destroyers of the “S” class, one of which went on fire, and the other was sunk by eight British destroyers, including the Defender. We chased them for about four hours, and one showed great pluck as the crew refused to haul down the flag, and she sank with the German flag flying. When she sank, and even before it, the sailors were swimming towards the British ships, shouting in broken English that they had surrendered, and appealing for help. It was a terrible sight to see the wounded in the water, and we assisted in throwing out lifebelts and ropes to them, while the whaler and a skiff were also lowered, together with small boats from the other British vessels. While engaged in picking up the wounded and other survivors, we were fired on by a big four-funnelled German cruiser, so that we had to leave our two boats. We watched the cruiser firing seven or eight 11-inch guns, which made us keep going well ahead to keep out of the way.

A piece of shell struck one of the gun’s crew on the head, and dropped at my feet, and we had to keep dodging the shells round the bridge. A light cruiser at last came to the rescue, for the destroyer’s guns were no use against those of the Germans’. Our cruiser sank the German cruiser, and a good many of the enemy’s boats escaped. About 12 o’clock on Saturday one of the latest submarines signalled that she had saved the boat’s crew (9 men and 1 officer) while following the big cruiser to torpedo her. It was believed these fellows had been lost, and their mates on board never dreamt of seeing them again. Some German survivors were put aboard a destroyer, and they were cheered by the British tars who were anxious to hear the news from them. A German stoker said they did not want to fight England, and it was too much Germany fighting so many countries. It was terrible to hear the cries of the wounded in the water, and we did not get a chance to pick them up. The men on the sinking destroyer stuck to their guns to the last, and they were firing at their own men who dived for our ships. Some had lifebelts on, and the officers tried to frighten them by saying the British would put them in front of their guns. We had only two hurt.

* * * * *

Letter 28. – From a gun-room officer on H.M. battle-cruiser “Invincible,” to his parents at Hove:

The particular ship we were engaged with was in a pitiful plight when we had finished with her. Her funnels shot away, masts tottering, great gaps of daylight in her sides, smoke and flame belching from her everywhere. She speedily heeled over and sank like a stone, stern first. So far as is known none of her crew was saved. She was game to the last, let it be said, her flag flying till she sank, her guns barking till they could bark no more. Although we suffered no loss we had some very narrow escapes. Three torpedoes were observed to pass us, one, it is said, within a few feet. Four-inch shells, too, fell short, or were ahead of us. The sea was alive with the enemy’s submarines, which, however, luckily did no damage. They should not be under-rated, these Germans. They’ve got “guts.” That cruiser did not think apparently of surrender.

* * * * *

Letter 29. – From a Bluejacket in the North Sea, to his friends at Jarrow:

On August 24th we made a dash for the German coast and were lucky enough to come across two German cruisers. Then the fun started. We pursued one, and when I tell you we can do thirty knots, you can imagine what chance she had of getting away. She was a heavier boat than us, and the engagement lasted four hours. At the end of that time she was a terrible sight. She was on fire from stem to stern; the Germans were jumping overboard, and at the finish only seventeen out of 400 were saved. It is a fact that the Germans only stayed at their guns under the orders of their officers, who stood over them with revolvers. Three dozen of their bodies, which were picked up, bore marks of revolver shots. Five days every week for the last four weeks we have swept the North Sea, and all we discovered were the aforesaid two cruisers and about a dozen trawlers, which we sank. There is no sign of the big German Navy. They are in Kiel Harbour, and if they come out – well, there will be no German Navy left. The only things they are using are mines and submarines. In fact, the so-called German Navy is a “wash-out.” We have been within ten miles of their base and they will not come out.

* * * * *

Letter 30. – From Seaman-Gunner Brown, to his parents at Newport, Isle of Wight:

We and another ship in our squadron came across two German cruisers. We outed one and started on the second, but battle-cruisers soon finished her off. Another then appeared, and after we had plunked two broadsides into her she slid off in flames. Every man did his bit, and there was a continuous stream of jokes. We pencilled on the projectiles. “Love from England,” “One for the Kaiser,” and other such messages.

The sight of sinking German ships was gloriously terrible; funnels and masts lying about in all directions, and amidships a huge furnace, the burning steel looking like a big ball of sulphur. There was not the slightest sign of fear, from the youngest to the oldest man aboard.

* * * * *

Letter 31. – From a man in a warship’s engine-room:

We stayed down there keeping the engines going at their top speed in order to cut off the Germans from their fleet. We could hear the awful din and the scampering of the tars on the deck as they rushed about from point to point. We could hear the shells crashing against the side of the ship or shrieking overhead as they passed harmlessly into the water, and we knew that at any moment one might strike us in a vital part, and send us below never to come up again. It is ten times harder on the men whose duty is in the engine-room than for those on deck taking part in the fighting, for they at least have the excitement of the fight, and if the ship is struck they have more than a sporting chance of escape. We have none, and the medals and pats on the back when the fight is won are not for us, who are only common mechanics.

* * * * *

Letter 32. – From Seaman Jack Diggett, of West Bromwich, to his brother:

You will have heard of our little job in the North Sea. We sank five ships and ran a few off. Of course it was only a trial spin. We kicked off last Friday about six in the morning, and we won 5 – nil. Not bad, considering we are playing “away.” Their goalkeepers could not hold us, we were so hot. Our forwards shot beautifully, and our defence was sound. We agreed to play extra time if we had not finished, but we had done in time. It must not be thought that we had it all our own way, for they were very brave, and fought until one of our boys fired a shot at the last gun in the Mainz and blew the whole gun and crew as well into the sea. One of our officers had both his legs blown off, and still shouted out to give the Germans another. We are all getting ready for the big match of the season now when their battle fleet chooses to come out. One German officer we got out of the water asked, “Are you British?” When our officer replied, “Yes,” he said, “God help us!” They thought we were the French fleet.

* * * * *

Letter 33. – From a seaman on H.M.S. “Hearty”:

The destroyer Laurel seems to have suffered the most. She had one funnel carried right away and the others riddled like a pepper-box. One shell struck her right forward, went through her bulkhead, through one galley door, and out through the other. The cookie was in there at the time, but it missed him and cut through the other side of the ship. That cook was born under a lucky star. It’s on the bridge and around the guns where they suffered most. On the Liberty’s bridge, everybody except one was killed; in fact they say they were never seen since. Poor devils, they must have been carried right overboard. The skipper of the Laurel had both his legs shot away.

The scout Arethusa came in last. She brought 100 Germans picked up off the cruiser Mainz. We didn’t see them; they were landed down at Sheerness. They’ve got one keepsake off her. They picked up a German officer, but he died, and they buried him at sea. They’ve got his uniform hanging up. The cooks on the Arethusa were not so lucky. Two cooks were in the galley, just having their rum, when a shell killed one and blew the other’s arm off. A funny thing, they’ve got a clock hanging up; it smashed the glass and one hand, but the blooming thing’s still going.

* * * * *

Letter 34. – From a seaman on H.M. destroyer “Lurcher,” to a friend at Bradford:

We had orders to pick up prisoners. As we steamed up dead bodies were floating past the ship. We went up alongside the German cruiser Mainz just before she sank, and it was an awful sight. We got 224 prisoners in a most terrible state, and most of them died. It is impossible to describe it all on paper. Our decks were red with blood, and you see we are only a destroyer, so you may tell what a mess we were in.

All the Germans seemed quite happy when we got them on board. The worst job of all was getting them out of the sea. Some of them had legs and arms shot away, battered to pieces. I was in our boat just below when their vessel sank, and there seemed to be many who were helpless on board her. The captain remained behind, having had both legs shot away.

* * * * *

Letter 35. – From a Naval Lieutenant to a friend:

That was all. Remains only little details, only one of which I will tell you. The most romantic, dramatic, and piquant episode that modern war can ever show. The Defender, having sunk an enemy, lowered a whaler to pick up her swimming survivors; before the whaler got back an enemy’s cruiser came up and chased the Defender, and thus she abandoned her whaler. Imagine their feelings – alone in an open boat without food, 25 miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy’s fortress, with nothing but fog and foes around them. Suddenly a swirl alongside and up, if you please, pops his Britannic Majesty’s submarine E 4, opens his conning tower, takes them all on board, shuts up again, dives, and brings them home 250 miles! Is not that magnificent? No novel would dare face the critics with an episode like that in it, except, perhaps, Jules Verne; and all true!

* * * * *

Letter 36. – From a seaman on one of the British destroyers:

We have at last had an innings at the Germans. It was a go. Fully seven hours we fought shot for shot. I had the pleasure of seeing four German ships go down. We never knew but it might be our turn next, as great shells were falling all around us. Several shells went just over our heads, whistling just like a needle on a broken record. Would you believe it, one of our boats had actually stopped to pick up German wounded when the Germans fired on her?

I think all our men took it just as though we were having our annual battle practice – cool, laughing, and cracking jokes, with shell all around them. All the thought was just of shooting it into them – and they got it! I was told they lost 1,500 men. I shall never understand how it was our ship was not hit, for we were within range of their cruisers and the Heligoland forts. We are ready for another smack at them.

* * * * *

Letter 37. – From a seaman on H.M.S. “New Zealand” to his uncle in Halifax:

The torpedo craft had rather a hot time with the enemy in the early morning, but suddenly we appeared out of the mist. To say that they were surprised is to put it mildly, because before they knew where they were we were playing our light cruisers, and the destroyers worried them like terriers. Then for us to come along and give them the coup de grace was absolutely It.

Two of their ships, I am convinced, would have been floating to-day, but as our small ships gathered round them to take off their survivors – all their flags were struck – they opened fire, only to be sent to Davy Jones’s locker a little quicker than they could shoot. Well, we succeeded in sending some good ships and some unfortunate men to the bottom in something like fourteen minutes. Not a bad score for the cricket season, is it?

* * * * *

Letter 38. – From a seaman on board the flagship of the first destroyer squadron, to his friends at Wimbledon:

We had a very decent splash last week off Heligoland, as doubtless you have read. Our ship was not hit at all, though some shots were pretty near. It was a fine sight to see the Lion demolish one cruiser. We could see her (the cruiser’s) shots falling short, but still the Lion did not fire. For fully ten minutes the cruiser belted away without getting a hit. Then the Lion, who was leading the line, hoisted “open fire,” turned slowly and majestically round and fired her broadside – once. It was quite sufficient. Up went a cloud of smoke and steam from the target, and when it cleared her aft funnel was at a rakish angle, and a huge rent appeared the length of her side.

After a few more “salvoes” she was rapidly sinking by the stern. Shortly afterwards she half-hauled down her ensign, and as we were steaming up to stand by and rescue her survivors, she hoisted it again and opened fire. It was a dirty trick, but they got their deserts. Once again the Lion turned, and this time fired but five shots from her huge turrets. Amidst a shower of splinters, smoke, and fire she disappeared. We steamed over the spot, but although there was plenty of wreckage, not a single living thing was to be seen. This incident only lasted about forty-five minutes, although the whole battle was raging for eight hours.

* * * * *

Letter 39. – Front leading telegraphist H. Francis, of Croydon:

We had the first taste of blood on Friday, and I can tell you it was O.T. The battle lasted from 6.30 a.m. till one p.m., going at it hammer and tongs all the time.

We came back with sixty prisoners, one of them being Admiral von Tirpitz’s son, who was second-lieutenant in the Mainz. We were within twenty yards of her when she went down, and I can tell you it was a grand sight.

Their officers were shooting the men as they jumped overboard, and one chap on the bridge was beckoned to by our commander to come off. But there was “nothing doing.” He simply folded his arms, shook his head, and as the ship rolled over he never moved. The captain also went down in her. He had both his legs blown off.

For a quarter of an hour the sea was simply alive with Germans, all singing out most piteously, and, as we pulled them on board, we marvelled how they managed to swim with the wounds they had, some with feet off, some with one or two legs off, some with their arms gone.

The Kaiser has been stuffing his men up that the English cannot shoot. They know differently now. They were greatly surprised when we picked them up and looked after them.

Pleased to say I am enjoying myself, and longing for more.

* * * * *

Letter 40. – From Gunner T. White:

We didn’t waste more shots than was necessary on the Germans off Heligoland. One of their destroyers was knocked over first shot. It was one of the cleanest shots you ever saw, and the man who fired it is the proudest man in our ship to-day.

Next time I fancy the Germans will want to make it a rule of the fight that a German ship must be allowed at least ten shots to one of ours before the knock-out is fired. Of course, it’s very hard on the rest of us, because it simply means that the gunner who gets first shot does the trick, and we may be in a dozen fights and never get a shot at the enemy once, because there’s nothing left to hit.

Since that first engagement, the British Fleet has been waiting alert for the enemy to come out of hiding and give them a second chance; and has incidentally been busy sweeping the sea of floating mines and prowling after mine-layers that, disguised as Grimsby trawlers, have succeeded in putting in some deadly work.

An interesting account of the efficiency of this policing of the North Sea was related by two trawler skippers, a week after the fight, to a Daily Telegraph Correspondent who remarks that the modus operandi necessitates a continuous vigilance, mostly under cover of the darkness, and entails a strain upon the naval officers and men that can only be appreciated by those who witness it.

The first skipper stated that he had just come from Iceland:

At one point up north there was, he said, a solid wall of warships, which made it impossible for any foe to break through undetected. The scrutiny did not end with a mere examination at the point mentioned. After being released our boat was followed by a couple of torpedo destroyers until we reached our destination. In this way we were not only convoyed, but the warships made absolutely certain that we were British trawlers. The experience, being novel to us, was very inspiring.