Liége on the line of march : $b an American girl's experiences when the Germans came through BelgiumBigelow, Glenna Lindsley
History
Liége on the line of march : $b an American girl's experiences when the Germans came through Belgium
Bigelow, Glenna Lindsley
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
Our route was a veritable _via dolorosa_--destruction on both sides, in
front and behind. Many houses and trees had eight inch shells half
sticking in them which have not exploded and nobody knows when they may.
The churches were without fail demolished more or less and the most
astonishing thing was to see, again and again, the marble statue of the
Christ standing intact on the crumbling remains of an altar. It fills
one with awe and reverence to see this figure repeatedly spared by a
supernatural power from an otherwise pitiless devastation. We passed
through the now famous Louvigné which was entirely burned by the
Prussians on their way to Liége. It was the same old story of the
"civilians firing on the troops," or rather the excuse of the
delinquents to martyr innocent villagers who instinctively took up a
rifle to defend their homes, as any one of us would. And revenge came
quickly.
As we neared this spot which scarred the face of Nature, we were seized
with silent horror. If, in the smiling sunshine and in the quiet of the
beautiful country, we shivered at the sight of such destruction and the
thought of that dastardly work which marked the destiny of hundreds of
human beings, what must the awful realization have been to the
inhabitants themselves? Fancy the helplessness of them and their
consternation at the approach of a great army bearing down, of men
maddened with the love of conquest, of the wild beast seeking what it
may devour! Imagine the distant rumbling of wheels, drawing nearer and
nearer, the thud of horses' hoofs, the rhythmic tramp of feet, first
wafted on the wind, and finally the frightful dread confirmed by a
sudden explosion from the forts. Then the arrival--the dark--the
noise--the confusion--the terror of the women--the screams of little
children clinging to their mothers--the despair of the old ones, ill and
bedridden--fire everywhere and men torn from the arms of their loved
ones and stood up in a row and shot. What ghastly scenes, illumined
still more by those rockets of flame from the forts which cut across the
plain to stay the brutal invaders!
I saw a little girl come out from the débris to draw water from a
pump--for what? For whom? There did not seem to be a living creature in
the vicinity, though perhaps some of the poor things who fled out into
the night across the fields for safety, have come back to dig out a
little home under the crumbled stone. One or two houses remained
standing, which seems a miracle, as pétrole-soaked fire-brands were
thrown systematically into every habitation. As we passed, rather
quickly, I counted ninety houses in ruins and about half a mile from the
road, a magnificent château, a victim as well as the meanest hovel. The
façade only was standing, though on approaching directly, the building
seemed intact, except for a curious impression of daylight shining
through the windows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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