A Journal From Our Legation in BelgiumGibson, Hugh
History
A Journal From Our Legation in Belgium
Gibson, Hugh
Belgium -- History -- German occupation, 1914-1918
Despite Lancken's very positive statements as to the futility of our
errand, we continued to appeal to every sentiment to secure delay and
time for reconsideration of the case. The Spanish Minister led Lancken
aside and said some things to him that he would have hesitated to say in
the presence of Harrach, Falkenhausen, and de Leval, a Belgian subject.
Lancken squirmed and blustered by turns, but stuck to his refusal. In
the meantime I went after Harrach and Falkenhausen again. This time,
throwing modesty to the winds, I reminded them of some of the things we
had done for German interests at the outbreak of the war; how we had
repatriated thousands of German subjects and cared for their interests;
how during the siege of Antwerp I had repeatedly crossed the lines
during actual fighting at the request of Field Marshal von der Goltz to
look after German interests; how all this service had been rendered
gladly and without thought of reward; that since the beginning of the
war we had never asked a favour of the German authorities and it seemed
incredible that they should now decline to grant us even a day's delay
to discuss the case of a poor woman who was, by her imprisonment,
prevented from doing further harm, and whose execution in the middle of
the night, at the conclusion of a course of trickery and deception, was
nothing short of an affront to civilisation. Even when I was ready to
abandon all hope, de Leval was unable to believe that the German
authorities would persist in their decision, and appealed most
touchingly and feelingly to the sense of pity for which we looked in
vain.
Our efforts were perfectly useless, however, as the three men with whom
we had to deal were so completely callous and indifferent that they were
in no way moved by anything that we could say.
[Illustration: Two illustrations titled "Notes in Miss Cavell's prayer
book"]
We did not stop until after midnight, when it was only too clear that
there was no hope.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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