Various - The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

V >> Various >> The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29

A more pleasant incident was when a party of Uhlans clamored for
admittance at a villa on the Louvain road. They disposed of a dozen
bottles of wine and bread and meat. The non-commissioned officer in
command asked what the charge was and offered some gold pieces in
payment. The money was refused.

Near the steps of St. Gudule a party of officers of high rank, seated in
a motor car, confiscated the stock of the news vendors. After greedily
scanning the sheets they burst into loud laughter.

Hour after hour, hour after hour, the Kaiser's legions marched into
Brussels streets and boulevards. Some regiments made a very fine
appearance, and it is well that the people of England should know this.
It was notably so in the case of the Sixty-sixth, Fourth and
Twenty-sixth Regiments. Not one man of these regiments showed any sign
of excessive fatigue after the gruelling night of marching, and no doubt
the order to "goose step" was designedly given to impress the onlookers
with the powers of resistance of the German soldiers.

[Illustration: The First Rush Into Belgium.]

The railway stations, the Post Office and the Town Hall were at once
closed. The national flag on the latter was pulled down and the German
emblem hoisted in its place. Practically all the shops were closed and
the blinds drawn on most of the windows.

At the time of writing I have heard of no very untoward incident. The
last train left Brussels at 9 o'clock on Wednesday night. Passengers to
the city cannot pass beyond Denderleeuw, where there are strong German
pickets.

*The Fall of Antwerp*

*By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle, Who Was at Antwerp
During the Siege.*

[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

LONDON, Oct. 11.--A Daily Chronicle correspondent who has just arrived
from Antwerp tells the following story of his experiences:

Antwerp has been surrendered. This last and bitterest blow which has
fallen upon Belgium is full of poignant tragedy, but the tragedy is
lightened by the gallantry with which the city was defended.

Only at the last, to save the historic buildings and precious
possessions of the ancient port, was its further defense abandoned.
Already much of it had been shattered by the long-range German guns, and
prolonged resistance against these tremendous engines of war was
impossible.

Owing to this the siege was perhaps the shortest in the annals of war
that a fortified city ever sustained. I have already described its
preliminaries and the many heroic efforts which were made by the
Belgians to stem the tide of the enemy's advance, but the end could not
long be delayed when the siege guns began the bombardment.

It was at three minutes past noon on Friday that the Germans entered the
city, which was formally surrendered by the Burgomaster, J. de Vos.
Antwerp had then been under a devastating and continuous shell fire for
over forty hours.

It was difficult for me to ascertain precisely how the German attack was
being constituted, but from officers and others who made journeys from
the fighting lines into the city I gathered that the final assault
consisted of a continuous bombardment of two hours' duration, from 7:30
o'clock in the morning until 9:30.

During that time there was a continuous rain of shells, and it was
extraordinary to notice the precision with which they dropped just where
they would do the most damage. I was told that the Germans used captive
balloons, whose officers signaled to the gunners the points in the
Belgian defense at which they should aim.

The German guns, too, were concealed with such cleverness that their
position could not be detected by the Belgians. Against such methods and
against the terrible power of the German guns the Belgian artillery
seemed quite ineffective. The firing came to an end at 9:30 o'clock
Friday, and the garrison escaped, leaving only ruins behind them.

[Illustration: GEN. VON KLUCK
Commanding on the German Left Wing in the West
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co., N.Y._)]

[Illustration: GEN. VON HINDENBURG
The German Commander in the East
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co. N.Y._)]

In order to gain time for an orderly retreat, a heavy fire was
maintained against the Germans up to the last minute, and the forts were
then blown up by the defenders as the Germans came in at the Gate of
Malines. I was lucky enough to escape by the river to the north in a
motor boat. The bombardment had then ceased, though many buildings were
still blazing, and while the little boat sped down the Scheldt one could
imagine the procession of the Kaiser's troops already goose-stepping
their way through the well-nigh deserted streets.

Those forty hours of shattering noise, almost without a lull, seem to me
now a fantastic nightmare, but the harrowing sights I witnessed in many
parts of the city cannot be forgotten. It was Wednesday night that the
shells began to fall into the city. From then onward they must have
averaged about ten a minute, and most of them came from the largest guns
which the Germans possess--"Black Marias," as Tommy Atkins has
christened them.

Before the bombardment had been long in operation the civil population
or a large proportion of it fell into a panic. It is impossible to blame
these peaceful, quiet living burghers of Antwerp for the fears that
possessed them when the merciless rain of German shells began to fall
into the streets and on the roofs of their houses and public buildings.
The Burgomaster had in his proclamation given them excellent advice to
remain calm and he certainly set them an admirable example, but it was
impossible to counsel the Belgians who knew what had happened to their
fellow citizens in other towns which the Germans had passed through.

Immense crowds of them, men, women and children, gathered along the
quayside and at the railway stations in an effort to make a hasty exit
from the city. Their condition was pitiable in the extreme. Family
parties made up the biggest proportion of this vast crowd of broken men
and women. There were husbands and wives with their groups of scared
children unable to understand what was happening, yet dimly conscious in
their childish way that something unusual and terrible and perilous had
come into their lives.

In many groups were to be seen old, old people, grandfathers and
grandmothers of a family, and these in their shaking frailty and terror,
which they could not withstand, were the more pitiable objects in the
great gathering of stricken townsfolk. This pathetic clinging together
of the family was one of the most affecting sights I witnessed, and I
have not the slightest doubt that in the mad rush for refuge beyond the
borders of their native land many family groups of this sort completely
perished.

All day and throughout the night these pitiful scenes continued, and
when I went down to the quayside early Thursday, when the dawn was
throwing a wan light over this part of the world, I found again a great
host of citizens awaiting their chance of flight.

In the dimness of the breaking day this gathering of "Les Miserables"
presented, as it seemed to me, the tragedy of Belgium in all its horror.
I shall never forget the sight. Words would fail to convey anything but
a feeble picture of the depths of misery and despair there. People stood
in dumb and patient ranks drawn down to the quayside by the announcement
that two boats would leave at 11 o'clock for Ostend, and Ostend looks
across to England, where lie their hopes.

There were fully 40,000 of them assembled on the long quay, and all of
them were inspired by the sure and certain hope that they would be among
the lucky ones who would get on board one of the boats. Alas for their
hopes, the two boats did not sail, and when they realized this I fancied
I heard a low wail of anguish rise from the disappointed multitude.

Other means of escape were, however, available in the shape of a dozen
or fifteen tugboats, whose destinations were Rotterdam and Flushing and
other ports of Holland. They were not vessels of any considerable
passenger carrying capacity, and as there was no one to arrange a
systematic embarkation a wild struggle followed among the frantic people
to obtain places on the tugs. Men, women, and children fought
desperately with each other to get on board, and in that moment of
supreme anguish human nature was seen in one of its worst moods, but who
can blame these stricken people? Shells that were destroying their homes
and giving their beloved town to the flames were screaming over their
heads. Their trade was not war; they were merchants, shopkeepers,
comfortable citizens of more than middle age, and there were many women
and children among them, and this horror had come upon them in a more
appalling shape than it has visited any other civilized community in
modern times.

There was a scarcity of gangways to the boats and the only means of
boarding them was by narrow planks sloping at a dangerous angle. Up
these the fugitives struggled, and the strong elbowed the weak out of
their way in their mad haste to escape. The marvel to me as I watched
the scramble was that many were not crushed to death in the struggle to
get on board or forced into the river and drowned. As it was, mishaps
were very few. One old lady of 80 years slipped on one of the planks and
fell against the side of the boat, fracturing her skull. Several people
fell into the river and two were drowned, but that is the sum total of
accidents as far as I could ascertain.

By 2 o'clock Thursday most of the tugboats had got away, but there were
still some 15,000 people who had not been able to escape, and had to
await resignedly whatever fate was in store for them.

I have endeavored to describe the scenes at the quayside on Thursday
morning, and I now turn to the Central Station, where incidents of a
similar kind were happening. There, as down by the river, an immense
throng of people had assembled, and they were filled with dismay at the
announcement that no trains were running. In their despair they prepared
to leave the city on foot by crossing the pontoon bridge and marching
toward the Dutch frontier.

I cannot, of course, speak positively on the subject, but I should say
the exodus of refugees from the city must have totaled 200,000
persons--men, women, and children of all ages--or very nearly that vast
number, and that out of a population which in normal times is 321,821.
One might estimate that fully 70 per cent. of those folk had little or
no money.

There were three lines of exit. They could up to the time of the German
invasion cross the pontoon bridge over the Scheldt; they could go along
the countryside toward the Dutch frontier, or they could walk up the
Scheldt toward the frontier and then cross by ferry to Belgian territory
again.

Many of the aged women among the refugees, terrorized and
hunger-stricken, died, I am told, on the way to the Belgian frontier.
The towns were crowded with pitiful wanderers, fleeing from the ruthless
invaders, and they begged for crusts of bread. They were simply
starving, and householders did what they could to help, cottagers giving
to their utmost out of their meagre larders, but still there was a cry
for food.

I now return to the events of Thursday. At 12:30 o'clock in the
afternoon, when the bombardment had already lasted over twelve hours,
through the courtesy of a Belgian officer I was able to ascend to the
roof of the cathedral, and from that point of vantage I looked down upon
the scene in the city.

All the southern portion of Antwerp appeared to be a desolate ruin.
Whole streets were ablaze, and flames were rising in the air to the
height of twenty and thirty feet. In another direction I could just
discern through my glasses dimly in the distance the instruments of
culture of the attacking German forces, ruthlessly pounding at the city
and creeping nearer to it in the dark. At that moment I should say the
enemy's front line was within four miles of Antwerp.

From my elevated position I had an excellent view also of the great oil
tanks on the opposite side of the Scheldt. They had been set on fire by
four bombs from a German taube, and a huge, thick volume of black smoke
was ascending 200 feet into the air. The oil had been burning furiously
for several hours, and the whole neighborhood was enveloped in a mist of
smoke.

In all directions were fire and flames and oil-laden smoke. It was like
a bit of Gustave Dore's idea of the infernal regions. From time to time
great tongues of fire shot out from the tanks, and in this way, the
flames greedily licking the sides of other tanks, the conflagration
spread. How long this particular fire raged I cannot say, for I saw
neither the beginning nor the end of it, but while I watched its
progress it seemed to represent the limit of what a fire was capable of.

After watching for some considerable time the panorama of destruction
that lay unrolled all around me, I came down from my post of observation
on the cathedral roof, and at the very moment I reached the street a
28-centimeter shell struck a confectioner's shop between the Place Verte
and the Place Meir. It was one of these high explosive shells, and the
shop, a wooden structure, immediately burst into flames.

The city by this time was almost deserted, and no attempt was made to
extinguish the fires that had broken out all over the southern district.
Indeed, there were no means of dealing with them.

As far back as Tuesday in last week the water supply from the reservoir
ten miles outside the city was cut off, and as this was the city's main
source of supply, indeed practically its only source, great apprehension
was felt. The reservoir is just behind Fort Waelhem, and the German
shells had struck it, doing great mischief. It left Antwerp without any
regular inflow of water, and the inhabitants had to do their best with
artesian wells. Great efforts were made by the Belgians from time to
time to repair the reservoir, but it was always thwarted by German shell
fire. The health of the city was thereby menaced, for there was danger
of an epidemic.

Happily, stricken Antwerp was spared this added terror. It had plenty
of other sorts, and some of these I experienced when, after leaving the
cathedral, I made my way to the southern section of the city, where
shells were bursting at the rate of five a minute. With great difficulty
and not without risk I got as far as Rue la Moiere.

There I met a terror-stricken Belgian woman, the only other person in
the streets besides myself. In hysterical gasps she told me the Banque
Nationale and the Palais de Justice had been struck and were in flames,
and that her husband had been hit by a shell just five minutes before I
came upon the scene, his mangled remains lying not a hundred yards away
from where we were standing.

It was obviously impossible to proceed further, and so I retraced my
steps toward the quay. As I was passing the Avenue de Keyser a shell
burst within twenty yards of me. I was knocked down by the force of the
concussion. A house not ten yards from where I was was struck and
actually poured (I can think of no other word to describe what happened)
into the street in a shower of bricks. A broken brick struck me on the
shoulder, but its force was spent and I received no injury.

I had scarcely picked myself up and was hastening to a place of safety,
if there were one, when a man about 40 years of age, almost half naked,
rushed out of a house, screaming loudly. He had gone mad.

At this time I was fortunate enough to meet Frank Fox of The Morning
Post. Mr. Fox is an ex-officer of artillery, and he told me he had found
a hotel which, as long as the Germans fired in the direction they were
then firing, was not within the reach of their guns. This was the Hotel
Wagner, which stands behind the Opera House on the Boulevard de
Commerce. It was the only hotel in the city except the Queens Hotel, in
which some representatives of American newspapers had been staying, that
was open. There I found Miss Louise Mack, an Australian authoress, and
she, Fox, and myself were among the few British subjects left in the
port.

As night came the city presented a fantastic appearance as I watched it
from the Hotel Wagner. The glare from the fires that had burst out in
all directions could be seen for miles around. The bombardment was
proceeding furiously, and German shells were bursting in every
direction. I reckoned they were coming in that time at the rate of at
least thirty a minute.

I went to the Queens Hotel to ascertain what had become of the American
journalists. I found they had left the city after having spent the night
in a private house which had been struck three times by shells, and
finally caught fire. Arthur Ruhl of the staff of Collier's Weekly had
left for me this note:

Donald C. Thompson, photographer of The New York World, fitted up
for himself a cellar at 74 Rue de Peage, just by the Boulevard de
Keyser, where shrapnel fell with terrible force during the latter
part of Wednesday. With him were three other Americans. The entire
population, including, of course, the Government of Antwerp, have
made their escape across the pontoon bridge which still connects
the River Scheldt with the road toward Ghent. Two shells demolished
Thompson's retreat and at sundown it burst into flames. The
American Consul General and Vice Consul General had gone by this
time. The following Americans, all of them newspaper men, were
known to have spent the night in Antwerp; Arthur Ruhl, Horace
Green, staff of The New York Evening Post; Edward Eyre Hunt,
correspondent of The New York World; Edward Heigel of the staff of
The Chicago Daily Tribune, and Thompson himself.

Except for the glare of burning buildings, which lit up the streets, the
city was in absolute darkness, and near the quay I lost my way in the
byroads trying to get back to the Hotel Wagner. For the second time that
day I narrowly escaped death by a shell. One burst with terrific force
about twenty-five yards from me. I heard its warning whirr, and rushed
into a neighboring porch. Whether it was from concussion of the shell or
in my anxiety to escape, I cannoned against a door and tumbled down. As
I lay on the ground the house on the opposite side crashed in ruins. I
remained still for several minutes feeling quite sick and unable to get
up. Then I pulled myself together, and ran at full speed until I came
to a street which I recognized, and found my way back to the hotel.

As I hastened down the Avenue de Keyser shells were bursting in every
quarter. Several fell into the adjoining street. At the hotel I found my
friend Fox had been up to the Red Cross Hospital to inquire about a
motor car in which we hoped to get away. It had gone, as had the entire
personnel of the hospital.

We began to wonder how we should escape. However, Fox had a bicycle, and
Mr. Singleton, Chief of the Boy Scouts in Antwerp, had given me the key
of a house not far off, in which he told me there was one if I wanted it
in an emergency. I ventured into that dangerous part of the city again
to get it. I got to the house safely and found the bicycle, but as there
was no tube in the back tire it was useless. On my return journey I was
startled to see in the street through which I had just walked a hole six
feet deep, which had just been made by a shell.

On returning to the hotel I joined in a meal, eaten under the weirdest
[Transcriber: original 'wierdest'] conditions imaginable. Descending
into the cellars of the hotel with Miss Mack and Mr. Fox we found the
entire staff gathered there uncertain what to do and not knowing what
was to happen to them. We were all hungry, and one of the men dashed
upstairs to the kitchen and brought down whatever food he could lay his
hands on, and we all partook of pot luck. Considering all the
circumstances we made a very jolly meal of it. We toasted each other in
good red wine of the country, pledging each other with "Vive la
Belgique" and "Vive l'Angleterre," and altogether we were a merry party,
although at the time German shells were whirling overhead and any moment
one might have upset our picnic and buried us in the debris of the
hotel.

How many of the inhabitants of Antwerp remained in the city that night
it is impossible to say, but it is pretty certain they were all in the
cellars of their houses or shops.

The admirable Burgomaster, M. De Vos, had in one of his several
proclamations made many suggestions for safety during the bombardment
for the benefit of those who took refuge in cellars. Among the most
useful of them perhaps was that which recommended means of escape to
adjoining cellars. The power of modern artillery is so tremendous that a
cellar might very well become a tomb if shells were to fall on the
building overhead.

We went to bed early that night but sleep was impossible in the noise
caused by the explosion of the shells in twenty different quarters of
the town. About 3 o'clock in the morning a twenty-eight centimeter shell
fell into the square in front of the hotel and broke all the windows in
the neighboring house. In spite of the terrific din one got to sleep at
last.

About 6 o'clock Fox roused me and said he thought it was time we got
out, as the Germans were entering the city. We hurried from the hotel,
and found in the square a squad of Belgian soldiers who had just come in
from the inner line of forts. They told us it was not safe for us to
remain any longer. The streets were now completely deserted.

I walked down to the quayside, and there I came across many wounded
soldiers, who had been unable to get away in the hospital boat. On the
quay piles of equipment had been abandoned; broken-down motor cars,
kit-bags, helmets, rifles, knapsacks were littered in heaps. Ammunition
had been dumped there and rendered useless. The Belgians had evidently
attempted to set fire to the whole lot. A pile of stuff was still
smoldering. I waited there for half an hour, and during that time
hundreds of Belgian soldiers passed in retreat, the last contingent
leaving at about 6:30 A.M.

I went again to the Queen's Hotel to inquire what had become of the
American newspaper men, and it was just about this time that the pontoon
bridge which had been the way of the Belgian retreat was blown up to
prevent pursuit by the Germans. The boats and woodwork of the
superstructure burnt fiercely and in less than twenty minutes the whole
affair was demolished.

Safe exit from the city was now cut off. A Red Cross officer whom I met
when standing by the quay had been a spectator of the blowing up of the
bridge.

"My God!" he said, running toward me, "it is awful!"

"How are you going to get out?" I asked him.

"I'm going to stay here and look after my wounded," he replied.

In further talk with him I learned that the greater part of the second
line of forts had fallen at midday the previous day and that there was
nothing then to stop the Germans entering the city save a handful of
Belgian soldiers in three or four forts. At 8 o'clock a shell struck the
Town Hall.

Fox had now joined me, and we took refuge in the cellars beneath the
Town Hall. So far as I could gather, the remaining inhabitants of
Antwerp must have assembled about this neighborhood, groups taking
refuge in small and stuffy cellars, where developments were anxiously
awaited. There must have been hundreds of people sheltered underground,
and they included the Mexican and Dominican Consuls. Why these stayed I
do not know, as none of their people were left behind. They were the
only Consuls remaining in Antwerp.

About 8:15 o'clock another shell struck the Town Hall, shattering the
upper story and breaking every window in the place. That was the German
way of telling the Burgomaster to hurry up. There was a tense feeling as
we waited for tidings of some sort or other. A quarter of an hour later
M. De Vos went out in his motor car toward the German line to discuss
conditions on which the city should be surrendered.

Another shell struck a furrier's shop opposite the Town Hall and the
place burst into flames. Several of the gendarmes who had stayed behind
were occupants of cellars, and two of them immediately rushed out to
force a way into the shop in order that they might extinguish the fire.
They found the door locked. It took them ten minutes to force an
entrance. By this time the fire was burning fiercely, and at great
personal risk one of the gendarmes made his way to the top floor of the
premises, and there he endeavored to beat out the flames with a piece of
timber torn from the roof. His efforts were futile, and he called for
water. Soon a Flemish woman brought him two pailfuls, which Fox had
carried to the house, and after half an hour's labor the fire was
extinguished.

The proprietor of the shop was among the people in the cellars across
the way. The news that his house was aflame was broken to him and he
rushed into the street. He gazed for a moment on the scene and burst
into tears like a child.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29