The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the FrontCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
History
The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the Front
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Western Front; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
At first these placards were signed by the burgomaster, with the
military commandant's indorsement, and sometimes by both those
functionaries; but on the second day there appeared one signed by the
commandant only; and this one, for special emphasis, was bounded by
wide borders printed in bright red. It stated, with cruel brevity,
that the burgomaster, the senator for the district and the leading
magistrate had been taken into custody as hostages for the good conduct
of their constituents; and that if a civilian made any attack against
the Germans he would forfeit his own life and endanger the lives of the
three prisoners. Thus, inch by inch, the conquerors, sensing a growing
spirit of revolt among the conquered--a spirit as yet nowise visible on
the surface--took typically German steps to hold the rebellious people
of Louvain in hobbles.
It was when we reached the Y-shaped square in the middle of things,
with the splendid old Gothic town hall rising on one side of it and the
famous Church of Saint Pierre at the bottom of the gore, that we first
beheld at close hand the army of the War Lord. Alongside the Belgian
Lion we had thought it best to keep our distance from the troops as
they passed obliquely across our line of vision. Here we might press
as closely as we pleased to the column. The magnificent precision
with which the whole machinery moved was astounding--I started to say
appalling. Three streets converging into the place were glutted with
men, extending from curb to curb; and for an outlet there was but one
somewhat wider street, which twisted its course under the gray walls
of the church. Yet somehow the various lines melted together and went
thumping off out of sight like streams running down a funnel and out at
the spout.
Never, so far as we could tell, was there any congestion, any hitch,
any suggestion of confusion. Frequently there would come from a sideway
a group of officers on horseback, or a whole string of commandeered
touring cars bearing monocled, haughty staff officers in the tonneaus,
with guards riding beside the chauffeurs and small slick trunks
strapped on behind. A whistle would sound shrilly then; and magically
a gap would appear in the formation. Into this gap the horsemen or the
imperious automobiles would slip, and away the column would go again
without having been disturbed or impeded noticeably. No stage manager
ever handled his supers better; and here, be it remembered, there were
uncountable thousands of supers, and for a stage the twisting, medieval
convolutions of a strange city.
Now for a space of minutes it would be infantry that passed, at the
swinging lunge of German foot soldiers on a forced march. Now it would
be cavalry, with accouterments jingling and horses scrouging in the
close-packed ranks; else a battery of the viperish looking little
rapid-fire guns, or a battery of heavier cannon, with cloth fittings
over their ugly snouts, like muzzled dogs whose bark is bad and whose
bite is worse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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