A Personal Narrative BY J. H. TWELLS, Jr. AUTHOR OF “THE HIGHER LAW” “ET TU SEGANE” ETC. LONDON:    ANDREW    MELROSE    LTD. 3 YORK    STREET,    Covent    Garden ,    W.C. 2 1919 TO C. H. M. THE “COMPANION” WHOSE CARE AND SYMPATHY GREATLY LIGHTENED THE DARK YEARS FOR ME, AND COMFORTED THE LIVES OF SO MANY SUFFERERS, THIS VOLUME IS, WITH DEVOTED AFFECTION, GRATEFULLY DEDICATED THESE reminiscences of prison years in Brussels, during the entire German occupation, aim merely at giving an accurate

J. H. T., Jr. Paradise Lost. IN THE PRISON CITY...

“THANK Heaven we are in a sane country at last!” was my thought when, after struggling as best we could through terror-stricken France, my companion and I crossed the Belgian frontier early in August 1914. Such was the impression made by the calm confidence of a people already meeting the German forces at the point where their inadequately fortified boundaries had been treacherously attacked. The impression may have been partly due to contrast with some days amid the wild confusion and panic of

BRUSSELS appeared, at first sight, little affected by the tragedy already in action at her outer gates. Banks were doing business as usual; the streets calm; the shops and cafés crowded with apparently indifferent throngs, enjoying life with as much appearance of security as a year earlier. Although it was the dead season, some smart equipages were to be seen—a pleasant sight after the dearth of horses and vehicles in Paris! Taxi-cabs were still to be had, and only the fact that we were stopped

AFTER that tragic day, Brussels came more and more under the tyranny of the “iron fist” by which the Kaiser once boasted he would win the world-power unattained by other and far more capable enemies of peace. German soldiers swarmed through the streets, always hurrying to fulfil urgent business of their impatient leaders, who, on their way to overwhelm France, panted to thrust the sword of ruin deeper into hapless Belgium. During those first weeks of the occupation the city appeared obsessed by

THE lower-class Belgian’s horror of the invaders grew daily, as more and more harrowing tales of their atrocities came to us from regions through which their armies were rushing. “ Schrechlichkeit ” was attaining its object at a bitter price to the poor unreasoning peasants, who saw not only those dear to them slain for no apparent cause, but also their superiors, priests, prominent townsmen, and even women and children. Stories reached us of such unparalleled ugliness that many refused to credi

The noble Mayor of Brussels, Bourgmestre Max, fought Luettwitz and von der Goltz with unrelenting obstinacy and courage, in every instance where they sought to ignore agreements which they had solemnly made at the time of their entrance—and quickly set aside when safely installed! It was only then that the flags were forbidden, which had been allowed to float until the iron hand had closed firmly on the city; only then that demands were made contrary to primary agreements. All manner of injustic

“You shall not speak English where officers of the German army are seated!” he ejaculated, through lips pale and quivering with rage. “Indeed? Why not?” inquired one of the party, an athletic creature who could have pounded the little fatty to a pulp. “Because I say it!” was the reply; “the English language is distasteful to us, and should be officially forbidden in Brussels.” “But it isn’t!” retorted the other in Americanized German; “and I guess Uncle Sam would have something to say if you tri

We all had maps spread over our walls, on which every mile that the British and French advanced was marked with pins bearing little flags of the nations. For how many months— years , indeed—we pored over that line as it crept closer and closer to St. Quentin, Cambrai, and other points considered the keys to a rapid and overwhelming victory! I cannot recall them without painful recollection of our many disappointments. In the spring of 1918 we put those maps out of sight, and ceased reading the c

I have no exact knowledge of how many bicycles were sold in Belgium during that summer; but judging by the fact that one was procured by every individual in the capital able to ride and scrape together the price, many thousands must have been sold in Brussels alone—all provided by Germany! A large number of the poorer classes could not save the necessary sum until the summer was over, and cold, bad weather prevented them enjoying their hard-earned acquisitions. But they had something to look for

“Why do you come to us who are in no way implicated in the war?” demanded the Hellenic matron; and the plunderer replied: “That is of no consequence; all must obey, neutral or not neutral! We need the copper, that is enough.” “But I need it too!” argued the lady. “What am I to do without my pots and kettles? It’s an outrage to treat Greeks as you do your enemies!” “Greeks!” roared the soldier; “what have the Greeks done for us? If they are not fighting us to-day, they will be to-morrow!” “But we

He was received by a stout, red-faced superior officer, who at first refused to answer questions, but finally announced that the boy was suspected of espionage. “May I ask upon what ground?” the Consul demanded politely. “Upon several suspicious indications,” was the evasive reply; “he must be held for further examination.” “But his passage to America is booked for the day after to-morrow,” urged the Consul. “He must leave Brussels to-day if he is to catch the ship.” The other shrugged, saying i

With such shameful wrongs eating into their souls, these people were expected again to dismantle their homes, and help Germany to hold territory won by craft, while seeking an advantageous peace. No step back would the invaders take to spare millions of poor citizens driven daily from hearth and home. On the contrary, they hunted them forth like cattle, at the evacuation of each town, in order to loot their houses and shops. The sister of our cook and her husband were driven from Menin without b

But the Zeppelin was dead! That was some comfort; and, with a feeling that it was perhaps the sign of better times, we saw demolished the enormous iron-clad garage where one of these monsters used to be housed. But few gleams of real promise reached us, and it was dread of a fifth winter, then appearing inevitable, that broke the spirit of those who went (only then) to work in Germany as a desperate act of self-preservation. Even in days that were so much brighter for outsiders, in August and Se

During October 1918 a suppressed, half-incredulous excitement could be felt in the very air of Brussels, although contradictory reports prevented us from knowing anything definite. Now and again rumours of thrilling promise would sweep over the city, but disappointment had been too frequent, hope too often quenched in despair, for the lower classes to put much faith on them. “ Est-ce vrai? ” was their almost invariable reply to news of encouraging character, and scarcely any enthusiasm was shown

No, glorious England, France, and Belgium! no plea of overwhelming numbers, no whine of enforced surrender before the entire world, can rob you of laurels won in the first awful years—that vast, unequalled victory which America’s generous hand helped at the critical moment to assure you! The realization that victory was in sight came upon us in Brussels with the dazing suddenness of a comet in a starless night. The first evidence of Germany’s collapse was the sudden and astonishing independence

Heine. The extraordinary spirit of reconciliation shown by these men, their total lack of humiliation in defeat, was in such strange contrast to the confident pride with which they had originally invaded Belgium that it was difficult to believe one’s eyes. And in their individual self-control, in the genial smile with which they met the rabble’s taunts, was a more beautiful pride than before—the pride of awakened conscience, and of that innate moral force which, despite aristocratic plottings, h

It must be owned that the vocal enthusiasm was considerably less than one, an American especially, could have expected. The cries at first were rather brief and spasmodic, the waving of handkerchiefs and so forth more the exception than the rule. There was none of that mad acclamation which would have welcomed, or rather will welcome, returning troops in America, none of the frenzied excitement with which we had seen French troops applauded when departing from Paris. The reason of this, no doubt