But it was of no avail; the twenty-four citizens whose names appeared on the list were compelled to keep guard in front of the station during the cold, wet nights of December and January. On Christmas eve, the group to which the old priest, Father Vandenhout, belonged was on guard. This priest, about 70 years of age, and seven companions paced to and fro in front of the station, throughout a cold and stormy night. It was not until the 15th of January that an order from Antwerp ended this arbitrary ruling of the local military authorities. It was at about that time that a new officer appeared at the chateau with a request that we should receive him in the house. This man was much less pleasant in manner than his predecessor. He had not lived in Spain or in Brazil. He had come straight from Eastern Prussia. He was violent and arrogant. He treated his orderly with extreme severity. The house trembled each time he started to scold the man, and this happened frequently enough. The officer left after a stay of three weeks, and God knows we never regretted his departure. Once again we were free from the Germans’ presence. True, we could hear their heels tramping on the road outside, but under the domestic roof the family lived quietly in peace. One of the Capellen physicians having returned from Holland, my wife and I decided, after consulting the children, to take steps to leave the occupied country, with the intention of crossing later to Canada. CHAPTER XI BRITISH CITIZENS Early in February, 1915, my wife and I went to Antwerp, and called at the Central Office for the issuing of safe-conducts (passports). We submitted to the two officers in charge our request to be authorized to leave Belgium. “Where do you wish to go?” inquired one of the officers. “To Holland,” I replied. “For what purpose?” “In order to embark for America.” “Why go to America?” “Because I wish to return home to Canada, where I reside.” “Then you are British subjects?” “Yes.” The officer appeared surprised. He turned to his comrade, and then looked at us, my wife and I, from head to foot. “You are British subjects?” he repeated. “You are right.” “How long have you been in Belgium?” “I came to Belgium before your arrival–that is to say, in July,” I replied. “What are you doing here?” he inquired. A colloquy between the two officers and ourselves followed for a few minutes, during which it was easily explained that my presence in Belgium had nothing mysterious about it, even from a German viewpoint.