The German Fury in Belgium: Experiences of a Netherland Journalist during four months with the German Army in BelgiumMokveld, L. (Lambertus)
History
The German Fury in Belgium: Experiences of a Netherland Journalist during four months with the German Army in Belgium
Mokveld, L. (Lambertus)
Belgium -- History -- German occupation, 1914-1918; World War, 1914-1918 -- Atrocities
The next morning the roar of the cannon woke us up, and soon we heard
how the fighting stood, for when we went to the commander for a permit
to go to Dixmuiden, the sympathetic major absolutely refused it, and
haltingly added that he himself did not yet know how things stood
there. Well, that was enough for us. At last he gave us a permit for
Ostend, and we noticed very soon that now we were in the rear of the
front. Whilst the guns were thundering on continuously and the shrapnel
exploded in the air, we passed continuously large contingents, who
actually formed one long line. The fight was going on only a few
miles away, and incessantly the unhappy wounded came out of the small
bypaths, stumbling on in their heavily muddied clothes.
At the "Oud Slot van Vlaanderen," a large, ancient castle, there was a
lot of hustle and bustle of carriages and motor-cars. We had not gone
another two hundred yards, when someone came after us and stopped us as
suspects. We were escorted back to the castle, where a general command
was established, and an aviators-division, with the motor-section
attached to it. Happily our detention did not last long, and after
examination we were released. On the road was an infernal noise, as
the violent roar of the cannon was mixing with the roar of the wheels
of the heavily-loaded convoys and the whirr and hooting of the army
motors. Long processions of field-kitchens passed us also, most of them
brand-new; but it was remarkable that all carts arranged for a team of
two were drawn with great difficulty by only one horse, and also that
so many civilians have been compelled to act as drivers, or to gather
the wounded.
Constantly new and large transports of wounded came along the road, and
here and there they were busy killing and burying wounded horses. The
inhabitants locked themselves in their houses, and expected with great
fear that any moment the military might arrive to claim their last
horse or cow. The requisitions went on continuously, and the cattle
were driven to the front in a long, desolate procession.
As we went on towards Eerneghem French aviators were heroically
reconnoitring above the German lines. One came from Dixmuiden and one
from Nieuwpoort; both went to about half-way between these two towns,
where the centre of the battle was. The Germans kept up an unbroken
artillery fire at those birds in the air. I saw quite near to them
shells exploding right and left and discharging dense, black clouds
of smoke that disappeared slowly. There were moments when these black
stretches of cloud seemed to form a frame round the aeroplanes, but the
brave aviators knew how to escape from their assailants by all sorts of
tricks. They came down to go up again unexpectedly, entirely changed
their direction a moment later, and at last both disappeared undamaged.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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