Front matter (continued 3)

The astonishment was so great, that a slight confusion ensued. An explanation was almost as quickly obtained. The enemy was making a sudden attack on the double interval, Breendonck-Letterheide-Liezele. An order was immediately given to the Artillery to occupy the positions organised for the defence of the said intervals. The 84th Battery had its Sector limited by the canal of Willebroeck and Breendonck, the 83rd the Sector comprised between Breendonck and Letterheide-Liezele, and the 82nd the Sector Letterheide-Liezele.

"Wheel round!" was the command given and, on the narrow road, the wheel round took place in perfect order.

Whilst the batteries were going to their positions, the Commanders went just as quickly to their observation posts. That of the Commander of the 83rd was an extraordinary post. Between two poplars, a platform, eight yards high, had been made, protected by a shield. It was reached by a huge ladder and was big and strong, as was necessary for the man who was to use it. When he reached it, the balls were already whizzing from all sides and the huge shrapnels were bursting above the Forts. It was evident that the Germans had begun the attack with their masses, without waiting for the preliminary artillery preparation.

The Commander climbed quickly on to his perch and began scrutinising the horizon with his field-glasses. In the direction of Breendonck, the firing range had been cleared for about eight hundred yards in advance of the line of Forts. All the houses but one had been destroyed. Farther away, in the background, there were isolated farms, the roads leading to the village, mills, and clusters of trees; in the foreground, immense fields of asparagus a yard high.

Suddenly, a movement was to be seen on the road leading from the village. An enemy column was advancing there. It broke up into little groups, in order to reach sheltered places. This was just the moment to seize the telephone and order a quick fire from the battery 1700 yards in the rear. Unfortunately, the telephone had been taken off on account of the reconnaissance that morning, and torture now began for the unfortunate Commander.

To have a mass of several thousand men in front of him and, there, behind him, the four fire-spitters which could sow death and carnage among that mass, and not be able to make a sign to them, not be able to transmit the order! Tantalus had nothing like this to endure! The Commander's eyes were fixed first on the advancing enemy, and then on the plain where the telephonists ought to be unrolling the wire, the precious wire.... He could see nothing but the green grass and the sunshine....

Finally, he could stand it no longer and he clambered down from his observatory, saluted by a volley of balls, which only did harm to the poplar branches. He rushed to his horse, which was hidden in the little wood at the back and rode at full speed in the direction of the telephonists. As soon as they appeared, he gave his orders in feverish haste and returned, at the same rapid pace, to his observatory. The question now was would he reach the top of the ladder or not? The balls came whizzing along, hitting the steps of the huge ladder. One, two, three, and he sprang on to it and began to mount. With a thrill of anguish, he continued his way until, at last, he was once more at his post. This time, though, he flung himself down full length on his platform to look through his field-glasses at the horizon. The changes he now saw were that the enemy columns were advancing, in close rank, behind the isolated farms and behind the mills. In the foreground, sharp-shooters were gliding and crawling towards the asparagus fields. Hundreds of men were already hidden there. He felt sure of that.

The Commander was furious. He remembered a certain shooting-party, when he had had a magnificent animal within his range and it had made straight for his neighbour's vicinity, thus preventing him from shooting, for fear of hitting his fellow huntsman.

It was certainly his fate to play the part of Tantalus. He wondered why the telephonists did not arrive, and whether the poor wretches had been shot down? Finally, he caught sight of them crossing the railroad, five hundred yards away. He hoped they would stoop down, and crawl if necessary, for the balls were whizzing along all the time. In the meantime, the Commander took his measures, noted the distances on the map, and revelled in advance at the thought of massacring the most odious enemies that ever existed, and cutting short their triumph in this sudden attack, which they fancied they were carrying out so well. The minutes seemed endlessly long; his blood was boiling and beating in his heart and brain....

Finally, the telephonists were at the foot of the ladder, the communication was once more set up and the first command sent like lightning. A few seconds passed, and the reply was there. Four rapid shrapnels burst above the asparagus, just at the right height, and now, quick, quick, and rapid firing!

The storm continued pouring down on the fields where the Boches were crouching and, through his field-glasses, the Commander could see hideous things flying in the air: arms, legs, and helmeted heads. At the same time as his orders, the telephone communicated to the battery the result of the firing, and the gunners imagined that they saw with their eyes the magnificent work of death. This excited them and, in glee, they continued their work with enthusiasm and speed.

After the asparagus fields, they attacked the farms. The shells fell there like thunderbolts and fires broke out everywhere. In spite of all this, the balls continued to whizz round the observatory. It was very evident that there were some men hidden who were shooting desperately. The Commander searched everywhere and concluded that they were in the one house still standing, the one house that the engineers had not destroyed. It was situated on the road from Breendonck to Lippeloo and within the last two hours it had been suddenly loopholed. What was to be done? It was too small a building to constitute an objective for indirect aim, and consequently it would have been useless to inform the battery. The Breendonck Fort, though, could knock it down directly.

It was the telephonist who thought of this and suggested his idea to the Commander, who had been obliged to come down once more from his perch, as it was impossible to remain there. The idea was good, but the question was how to communicate with the Fort? It was more than eight hundred yards away, and there was almost entirely open ground between them. The telephonist started off on his own account and, less than ten minutes later, the Fort opened fire on the house. With the third shell, it was flaming like a huge torch, after which it fell, sending an immense bouquet of sparks up into the air.... The Commander once more went back to his observation post, but the fête was over.

The roads were deserted; the asparagus plants on which he turned his glasses were quite still; the farms were smoking and the rumbling of the cannon could only be heard dying away in the distance. Over yonder, beyond the village of Breendonck, the disorderly retreat of the Boches could be imagined, saving their cannons, dragging along their wounded, and hastening to hide their disgrace.

After that our reconnaissances and our ambulances came out, and the sad and glorious balance sheet of the day's work was gradually made out.

The next day we found that, in the asparagus fields, 1100 German identification plaques had been gathered.

The Commander, whom everyone was congratulating, grasped the hands of the two soldier-telephonists and said to them: "And all this, thanks to you, my brave fellows!"

CHAPTER XIV

The Re-Taking of Aerschot

By Sub-Lieutenant Ch. Dendale of the 7th Line Regiment

On the 7th and 8th of September, the diminution of the forces besieging Antwerp was known at Headquarters and a sortie, with all the troops of the fighting army, was decided upon, either to inflict a defeat on the enemy, or to oblige the Germans to bring back, towards Antwerp, some of the forces now on the way to France. The sortie commenced on the 9th of September and began favourably.

On the 9th, the passages of the Démer and of the Dyle were conquered and Aerschot was taken. On the 10th, a platoon of the 2nd Mounted Chasseurs entered Louvain, but the 2nd Division was stopped at Wygmael and at Putkapel. The enemy brought back the 6th Division of Reservists who were then marching to France. On the 11th, the 3rd Division succeeded in an offensive on Over de Vaart and the 6th Division reached the railway from Malines to Louvain. On the 12th, it was the enemy's turn to take the offensive and drive back the 2nd Division at Rotselaer and Wesemael. This retreat drew with it the 6th Division and then the 3rd Division, and on the 13th the army fell back towards the retrenched camp. The chief object was nevertheless attained. The adversary had been obliged, not only to bring back to the Belgian front the 6th Division of the 3rd Corps, but also to delay the march of the 9th Corps towards France for two days, at the precise moment when the German armies, in effecting their retreat on the Marne, had the most urgent need of reinforcements.

This is not an account of a particularly glorious feat of arms, but merely a statement of impressions during a combat which, although it was less murderous than any other in which I took part, left the most vivid impression on my mind.

During the second sortie from Antwerp, the 27th Regiment, which landed at Heyst-op-den-Berg during the night of the 8th and 9th of September, received as its first objective: Aerschot. All along our road we could see the ruins of the dwellings which had been destroyed by fire by the Germans. These ruins stood out clearly and lamentably against the blue sky. From the débris, which were still smoking, a special, bitter odour emanated, which choked and suffocated us, giving us an indescribable sensation. We did not dare stir the ashes, for fear of exposing to view the calcinated remains of the martyrs who had been burned, with all they possessed, on the bit of land where they had been born, and where they had grown up, struggled, suffered, and where, with visions of horror before their eyes, they had died.

We approached the town and the Boches had not yet shown any signs of life. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to a forage cap, the red band of which stood out in contrast against the green of the meadow. I rushed forward and then stood still, deeply moved. The cap was attached to a little cross, made of branches, planted on a small mound. This first vision of the anonymous grave of a brave man, who had died for the sake of his country, gave me a pang at my heart. Alas, how many such tombs I have seen since then! I stood there thinking, and my thoughts went from the hero, who had fallen in the midst of life and light, to the poor old parents who were trembling for their son, to the poor parents who would never know where their lad had been buried.

We entered the town after the vanguard, which did not meet with any serious resistance. There were no longer ruins just here and there, but heaps and heaps of them everywhere. Nothing had escaped the destructive rage of the invader. Everything which had not been consumed by the flames had been saccaged. The shop windows had been cleared, furniture destroyed, glasses smashed, clothes thrown about in lamentable heaps. It must have taken whole days to destroy all these things, with kicks of heavy boots and with the butt end of guns. And what amazed us was the number of empty bottles strewing the ground. There must have been "colossal" drinking bouts. Perhaps the soldiers, in order to carry out their cruel task, had lacked courage. Perhaps at the bottom of their hearts, some sentiments of honour and of probity had been stirred, and they had had to stifle all this by drinking until they had lost their reason.

Gradually, a little curiosity mingled with our emotion. Silently, and with heavy hearts, we visited these ruins, exhaustless and glorious relics of patriotic love and virtue. Everything here, from the tombs down to the very stones, proved that Belgians prefer death to cowardly submission, prefer to suffer rather than to betray their word of honour. An atmosphere of august sacrifice sanctified this spot.

Suddenly, I uttered a cry. Over yonder, on the front of a convent, a big German flag was floating insolently in the wind. I rushed forward, but the soldiers had already preceded me, and the Colonel stamped on the accursed emblem. Our eyes shone with joy and hope. This sight was a symbol to us. We saw in it German power laid low, Right triumphant, Belgium delivered, and we were filled with absolute confidence....

Piff! paff! There was fighting going on over yonder and these detonations exasperated us. We rushed forward spontaneously in a wild, disorderly chase, crying out: "Long live the King!"

The Boches occupied the heights at the other side of the town. They greeted our vanguard with a violent firing, but fortunately it was badly aimed. Our Battalion rushed to the rescue. Just as we were turning the corner of a street and entering the zone swept by the firing, the first ranks hesitated for an instant. Then, and never shall I forget that sight, the standard-bearer rushed forward, holding our flag high with its three colours unfurled.

Electrified, the men rushed like a whirlwind, the clarions sounded the assault, and a confused clamour rang out: "Hurrah, Hurrah for Belgium!" The irresistible stream of our troopers gained the heights. The men were mad with fury, for the sight of the German atrocities had exasperated them. They hurried on, their hearts overflowing with rage.

"No prisoners! No quarter! Death to the bandits!"

Curses rang out on all sides. The men's faces were hard, savage, pitiless.

"They shall be cared for, their wounded!" I heard someone say.

I turned round and saw our doctor. The expression of his eyes scared me. A veritable flame of hatred had been lighted in all hearts.

"Yes, we are ready for anything. No pity! No conventions. So much the worse for them. They have brought it on themselves! It is their punishment!"

An immense joy took possession of us and transported us, the joy of the idea of snatching from the invader a shred of our national territory.

A pitiful troop of German prisoners was halting on the road. The sun was scorching. Our men, streaming with perspiration, grouped themselves round them, looking at them curiously. What did I now see, though? Was it possible? The same soldiers who had been intoxicated with the madness of carnage, with vengeance and hate, were now looking after these captives. One offered them cigarettes, another one coffee from his flask. Our "ferocious" doctor was busy lavishing his care on them, and dressing their wounds down to the very least scratch.

Suddenly calm again, on seeing the suffering of others, we were once more kind-hearted, simple Belgians, hospitable and compassionate, according to the traditions of our race. Moved by pity, we were doing our best to relieve the sufferings of our wounded enemies. I looked on at this poignant scene thoughtfully, and I was seized with deep emotion. My eyes were dim with tears and my heart swelled with joy, with unutterable pride, the joy and the pride of being a Belgian.

Hotel Dieu, Albert I. Hospital. 9. 11. 15.

CHAPTER XV

A Fine Capture

By Staff Deputy Captain Courboin

September 9, 1914. Aerschot, devastated and pillaged by the Germans, was retaken by Belgian troops composed of the Cavalry Division and the 7th Brigade. Surprised by the rapid action of our men, the enemy occupants made off, like a band of sparrows, in the direction of Louvain. To the south of the town, though, some detachments, probably unaware of the direction of the retreat, were still holding out. Our troops had gathered together on the heights towards Nieuw-Rhode and were awaiting orders. I had left my unit and was walking along at the border of the St. Hertoger Heyde Bosch, when a soldier of the 27th Line Regiment told me that, according to a patrol, a horseman of the 2nd Guides was lying wounded on the road running through the forest.

I asked for a gun and some cartridges and proposed to an army chaplain that he should accompany me. Twenty soldiers at once volunteered their services and I had the greatest difficulty in limiting my escort to a Corporal and six men.

Ten minutes later, the horseman, who was unfortunately dead, was brought into our lines. My men had to encounter a violent firing, which came from the border of the wood to the south, proving that there was at least one enemy company there. The horrors they had seen at Aerschot had roused the anger of our men, and they beseeched me to return to the forest with a force and avenge our unfortunate compatriots. I could not possibly have yielded to their entreaties, if an unforeseen circumstance had not more or less justified our escapade. An auto-machine-gun of the 1st Division of Cavalry, which was to reconnoitre in the direction of Nieuw-Rhode asked for an escort of scouts. I offered the help of our little troop and, a few minutes later, we were once more exploring the St. Hertoger Heyde. The woods appeared to be deserted, but, on arriving near the southern border, an intense firing, from the Nieuw-Rhode summit, greeted us. Our machine-guns replied with interest, whilst my men searched the houses skirting the road, one after another, and, hiding behind the hedges, were ready to take aim at any German heads which, in a moment of imprudence, should be outlined against the deep blue of the horizon.

We bounded on until we were within a hundred yards from the summit. The enemy firing had ceased and we now saw about fifteen wounded men sheltering in a ditch and imploring our aid. We wondered whether this could be a trap for us? It was too late, though, for prudence. We had risked coming two miles into the enemy's lines and my men were there, quivering with impatience. It was no use hesitating. Four houses stood in the corners of the cross-roads here, and these were probably sheltering the wounded and those who were trying to escape. There was no window looking out on to the place where we stood; the gardens appeared to be empty; one more rush and we should be able to see what was going on beyond the summit. When once we were at the top, I had no time to deliberate. A horseman, who, I must own, appeared to have lost control of his mount, galloped towards me at full speed. I shouldered my gun and ... the Boche bit the dust. The terrified horse leaped about in the fields; my men took aim and the machine-gun seemed to start firing on its own accord. That moment of over-excitement saved us.

The enemy thought we were there in strong force. A gun, covered with a white handkerchief, appeared at a skylight window. They were surrendering. I placed myself against the wall of the house, so that I might escape any treacherous firing from the window in the roof.

"Throw the guns out!" I shouted. A gun fell on the ground at our feet, then another and another. My men were wild with delight.

"Twenty ... fifty ... a hundred," they counted. When the hundred and sixth gun fell to the ground, there was a lull and a German sub-officer then, came out to make terms with us. In very good French, he asked that the lives of the Lieutenant, five sub-officers, and one hundred and six men, concealed in the house, might be spared.

Two minutes later, a little troop of men arrayed in iron-grey and blue, were standing in line on the road. A very Prussian little Lieutenant handed me his pistol, which joined the guns piled up in the ditch. My men did not seem to be at all aware of the strangeness, which was really somewhat alarming, of our situation. If only our prisoners had had a little energy, the rôles might have been reversed. I would not allow myself an instant even to think of this and I gave the order to my Boche colleague to take the command of his men.

With incontestable authority, tapping his high boots with a little stick, the Lieutenant commanded in a very arrogant tone: "Attention!" I wondered again whether, in reply to one of his injunctions, given in a guttural tone in the German language, the whole band would not suddenly fall upon us and, instinctively, I tightened my hold on the butt end of my Mauser....

No, it was very evident that these soldiers had a special mentality. The little dandy, tightly buttoned up in his grey coat, marching at the head of his men, seemed to me absolutely repugnant. I knew that our soldiers, commanded by one of our brave comrades, would not have remained long in the situation of this band of cowards. There they were, out-numbering us ridiculously, escorted by seven Belgian soldiers, marching to our Headquarters at Aerschot. Prisoners! They were prisoners and ... happy!

I was just about to fall in and close the march of this column, after promising to send help to the wounded, who were groaning in the ditch and calling out all the time: "A doctor. A doctor!" when a big, rough hand seized mine and shook it unceremoniously. It was Corporal Dethier, of the 27th, a brave miner of Liége.

"Captain," he whispered, "we all thank you. As for me, I am very glad, for I feel that I have been a good soldier to-day."[5]

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XVI

(September 9-12, 1914)

The Second Sortie from Antwerp

Episode of the Battle before Over-de-Vaert (Haecht). By Lieutenant L. Chardome of the 14th Line Regiment

I am writing the account of this combat in bed, at the Elisabeth Ambulance, as I am still suffering from my wounds of thirteen months ago. I give this account without any pretension and without any false modesty; my only care being to tell the exact truth.

It was during the second sortie of the Antwerp garrison. My Company, the 2nd Division of Hotchkiss machine-guns of the 3rd Army Division, had passed the night of September 11 and 12, 1914, along the embankment of the Malines-Louvain railway line, five hundred yards from the Haecht-Wespeleare station. At 4 in the morning, we received orders to get into line and go to the support of the 14th Line Regiment; my men mounted the slope in glee, and had soon cleared the summit. Very soon the two guns of my Section, the 52nd and 53rd, had taken their place with the sharp-shooters of Commander Magnette's Company, supporting the last Section of Infantry to the extreme left.

The sharp-shooters during the night had occupied a trench intended for those who kneel and they were now busy making it deeper. To my right, I could see their outlines dimly through the morning mist. In the rear the 15 Howitzers, placed beyond the railway, had sounded the reveille and immediately, three 75 batteries of the 12th Brigade took up the firing on the left. Towards 8 o'clock, the mist had entirely disappeared and the battle-field could be seen. Our losses were already important. First Sergeant-Major Carlens, Chief of the Machine-gun Section, had been killed and Butjèns, who served the 52nd, had been shot through his thigh. I had reserved the 52nd for myself and I was pointing it. From time to time, I called out to the men who were firing haphazard: "What are you aiming at? Do not shoot till you see the enemy." In order to give them confidence, however, I sent off about thirty cartridges, now and then, towards spots that I believed were occupied, as I know how it comforts the soldier to feel that he is being supported by the machine-gun.

In front of us, the firing continued, and the German Maxims never ceased for an instant their ta-ra-ta-ra-ta. The question was, Where did this firing come from? It was not until ten o'clock that I finally caught sight of the enemy trenches. For six hours, until then, I had been searching the firing range with excellent field-glasses, and had not been able to discover anything. Suddenly, a German head emerged and revealed to me the whole position.

"Caught!" I said to myself and I felt the most ferocious joy. I could now direct my firing, and Hubert Massart, my orderly, served me as observer. I succeeded, with three strips of thirty cartridges, in hitting straight at the parapet and the talus. I at once communicated my discovery to the Infantry and to my 53rd and, from that moment, our firing was more intense, although intermittent.

The morning passed by without any special incident and I took advantage of this for examining our position. In front of us was a glacis something like that of St. Privat, but ten times more dangerous, considering the power of firearms at present. It was a horseshoe of fire, skirted with long, low houses, and these were now full of invisible and almost invulnerable defenders. The background consisted of two German trenches, separated by a white house with walls of cracked bricks, which served as a shelter for legions of Boches. The whole of the morning, the 75 cannons and the 15 Howitzers were directed on these houses, which, we were told, were occupied by picked shooters or by machine-guns. Our gunners aimed with wonderful precision, but the shells went through the first wall, burst in the first room, and left the others intact. One out of three of our projectiles set fire to something, which was distinctly better for us.

I was installed behind the first obstacle of a deserted German trench, slightly outside and in front of our line, which I could flank, if necessary, whilst meeting a flank attack. To my left there was a gap opposite the Artillery, but on this side no foot-soldier could be seen.

At mid-day, our brave men suddenly cleared the parapet of their trench and advanced, crawling along and firing all the time. The line at once supported them, slightly to the right, and this freed my two machine-guns. We advanced, in our turn, within the fiery circle, from which we could only come out dead or conquerors.

I decided to leave the 53rd to continue the firing and flank the attack, whilst, making use of the empty Boche trench, I could go forward with the 52nd and support the Infantry.

"Bring the gun," I said to Sergeant Maréchal; "close the cartridge boxes and follow me."

I then set off to reconnoitre the road along which we had to go and the place to occupy for the firing. I had only to follow the German trench, about two hundred yards long, the end of which I was holding. When I came to the other end of this, I saw that the Infantry was advancing at a prodigious rate, under an extremely violent fire of musketry and machine-guns. To my right, in front of me just beyond a cross-road, was a second Boche trench which, curiously enough, I had not seen. I cleared the twenty-five yards which separated me from the cross-road. I then went along the ditch and, with a jump, reached the second trench. I went quickly right to the end of it and found that this formed a sort of hook, and that it would be a good position for the firing. I went quickly back to fetch my men and found they had already reached the cross-road. Unfortunately it was not possible to free the gun from the trivet of the Hotchkiss and, on account of the narrowness of the passage, we had great difficulty in transporting it. We made use of the ditch along the road, and then slipped into the second German trench. To the right, half way along, I caught sight of Corporal Boreux, of the 14th, out in the open field. He was dragging himself along with his legs bleeding.

"Can I have my wounds dressed, Lieutenant?" he called out.

"Quite impossible, my poor fellow!" I replied. "Get down into the ditch, and as soon as the fight is over, you shall be seen to."

The brave foot-soldiers were already at the end of the second Boche trench when I arrived and installed my gun.

"Lieutenant," said Maréchal, "there is a machine-gun firing on us."

He was quite right for, from the right of the little house opposite us, a German gun was sending us its messages. I pointed immediately, at a distance of two hundred yards, and silenced it with the first volley. Its rôle was over. I then began to pepper the Boche trenches, to the right and left of the little house. My gun worked excellently well and my men were absolutely calm. The brave fellows of the 14th soon passed by and went farther on. In less than a quarter of an hour they had cleared four hundred and fifty yards. The line continued to support them.

"Maréchal," I said, "I am going to entrust you with a confidential mission. Go and fetch the 53rd and bring it here."

I continued firing, thus neutralising the trench to the right. Our Artillery was obliged to stop firing on that side, but it peppered the left part and hit the walls and the houses on the main road from Louvain to Malines with its shrapnels.

The Germans had no artillery, which was extremely fortunate for us. My 53rd did not arrive though, and I had decided that, as soon as it came to relieve me, I would go forward and join the left wing of my regiment, in order to give these brave fellows, at any cost, the comfort of the presence of a machine-gun. I wanted to be with them to the end. Fearing to arrive too late, I decided to start.

"Come along, boys," I said, "the moment has come for the final blow. Forward!"

I seized the right foot of my gun, Massart the left one.

Janssens gave a hand, and Fraikin and Collard carried the cartridge cases. With a great effort, we got out of our shelter into the open field. It was more than imprudence, it was almost foolhardiness. My shooting had proved to be very superior to the adversary's though, and the brilliant attack had made me so hopeful. We went along about ten yards, surrounded by a swarm of balls. The German trenches had recommenced firing right and left. At a distance of three hundred yards, their picked shots and their machine-guns were aiming at us. Suddenly Massart fell, stifling a cry of pain. We all flung ourselves down on the ground. The well-known "kiss, kiss," was whistling through the air.

"Who is hit?" I asked. "Is it you, Hubert?"

"Yes, in the arm, Lieutenant."

The other men crawled down into the trenches we had just left.

"Lieutenant, could I have my arm seen to?" asked Hubert.

"Who is to do it?" I said. "Vile Boches! I will pay them for it. Get close to the trench, put your head against the parapet, and do not stir from there."

The "kiss, kiss" had ceased, for we were supposed to be all dead, and there were other objectives. I got up and once more began firing, but I was alone now in the midst of the fiery circle. My cousin, Lieutenant Fernand Marissal, who had brought his guns to my right, had stopped firing for the only reason possible. He had just been killed. Some Boches, hiding in a house had sent him a ball in the head. The sharp-shooters no longer existed, the brave Commander Magnette had been killed at the head of them. I therefore had to face three sides. I commenced by imposing silence once more on the trench to the left, and a ball grazed my right cheek and nose. It was a violent shock and my face was all bleeding, but, fortunately, my eyes were spared. I continued shooting at the houses on the right and I peppered doors, windows, and roofs. After this I aimed at the trench, which fired back at me. I was hit in the right fore-arm. A vein was cut, and this meant a considerable hemorrhage. I turned up the sleeve of my sweater and found my shirt quite red; my fingers still worked, but with difficulty. I meant to make the men in hiding, on the main road, pay for this. My poor Hubert had dragged himself along to the first trench and he said to his comrades, who were now shooting with guns: "What, do you mean to say that the Lieutenant is left alone to do the firing? He has been wounded twice. Is there no one to help him?" These were his last words. Mortally wounded as he was, this hero used his last breath to exhort his comrades to do their duty.

Janssens came out of the trench and charged my machine. I was just going to fire, when I was hit on the knee and brought to the ground.

"They have broken my leg!" I said. It certainly was in a strange position, and I pulled it round and stretched it out in front of me. I fired the last strip of cartridges loaded, and all those in the box near me. It was all I could do. Janssens had returned to the trench. I took off my right spur, which was twisting my broken leg, and lay down on my back, with my head on my shako, and a map on my face to protect me from the heat of the sun. It was 12.30. The sky was extremely limpid, with whitish clouds here and there. From time to time, the crows flew slowly by, uttering their hoarse croak.

"What are your orders, Lieutenant?" suddenly said a voice near me.

It was the brave Maréchal, accompanied by Corporal Treize and Private Van Herck of the 53rd.

"What about the 53rd?" I asked.

"It won't work, Lieutenant."

"Where is it?"

"We have put it completely out of use."

"Is there nothing more to be done then?"

"Yes, we are going to move you from here, Lieutenant."

"No, my boys," I said, "during action, the wounded cannot be moved." I could not, of course, accept for myself what I had refused twice for my men.

"Put the gun out of use," I said.

"We are going to save it, Lieutenant."

Taking advantage of a lull, he and the other two seized the gun and managed to drag it into the trench. This was a joy to me. The assault had failed. The first line had been massacred and those supporting it had stopped firing. Behind us and to the right, the Darche Company, of the 14th, now occupied the cross-road, where my poor cousin's two guns had been once more brought into action. Farther on, and to the left, the Moreau Company was defending Magnette's trench. The balls of this Company, as well as those of the enemy, passed over my head. Before going away with my 52nd, the good fellows begged affectionately to take me away. I refused categorically, for, as an officer, I wished to share the same fate as the brave soldiers who had fallen during the attack. I put an eighth cartridge into my Browning, determined to defend myself to the end. Presently, I heard the breathing of my poor Hubert Massart develop into the death rattle. A significant crispation of the spine caused his chest to swell, his nostrils were ominously drawn. I was present at his death and could do nothing.

As to myself, I was happy and very proud. My blood was flowing freely and I had nothing with which to staunch the wound. Fortunately, my tight breeches and my putties served as a sort of harness and, as vigorously as my injured hand allowed me, I fastened the strap of my field-glasses round my thigh.

The combat continued intermittently. At 5.30, a few Boche shells were still falling here and there, within the firing range. One of them buried itself a few yards away from me and the soil thrown up by the explosion half covered me. I determined to try and rejoin the Darche Company and began to drag myself along on my back, with the help of my one leg and my elbows, leaving behind me a line of blood. From time to time, I lifted my arm to show my rank to friends, and I heard them cry out distinctly:

"Take care, take care, the Lieutenant!"

Towards 6.30 I reached the cross-road and, by a miracle, I managed to clear the first ditch. One of the sharp-shooters took me by the shoulders when I arrived at the second one. He dragged me the whole length of the ditch to the left of his Company. Corporal Boreux and other wounded men were there and we were then in safety.

CHAPTER XVII

The 1st Regiment of Lancers

By Staff Deputy Colonel E. Joostens

The operations of the Siege of Antwerp commenced on the 28th of September. The enemy bombarded the Forts, the resistance of which was compromised by the firing of cannon of 42 cm. At the same time the enemy endeavoured to force the Escaut, between Termonde and Ghent, with the idea of cutting off the retreat of the Belgian army. The river was defended by the 4th Army Division, which was posted chiefly in the vicinity of Termonde. The 1st Lancers were at the extreme right of the Division. More to the west, towards Wetteren, the 1st Division of Cavalry was spread along the whole left bank of the Dendre.

The organisation of the Belgian army, when at war, requires a cavalry regiment for every division. Thanks to the hazards of this campaign, only the 1st and 3rd Lancers remained permanently with the big units to which they were organically attached.

Whilst the greater part of the men with our arm expected to keep their spurs, which are worn very high, and were preparing their flourish of trumpets, the 1st Lancers, that is the mounted ones, could not have the same pretensions, as they were destined to share the fate of the 4th Army Division during nearly all the operations. There was plenty of good work to be done, nevertheless, and from the very commencement, both on the banks of the Meuse and around Namur, our bold reconnaissances proved the value of this arm. In the northern Sector, Deputy Staff Major Lenercier, at present a brilliant Colonel of the 5th Lancers, took the direction of the combats of Boneffe and of the Sauvenière Mill. To the south, our regretted comrade, Lieutenant Moreau, made a most daring reconnaissance. At the head of two platoons, he went as far as Ciney, which was full of Germans. On his return, his little troop was completely surrounded, but the Lieutenant was not to be intimidated. He assailed his adversary and, thanks to his own personal intervention, he saved the life, or at least the liberty, of one of his comrades, who was surrounded by Uhlans, just as they were preparing to do him an evil turn.

The spirit of our mounted Lancers is admirable. How many of them have given proof of individual prowess! I well remember, among a hundred instances, that of the gay trumpeter, who had specialised in hunting the Boches. He would start off alone on his hunt, and he was very much cast down if he did not account for two or three in his day's work. Sometimes he would account for about ten of them, and his eyes were brighter than usual on those days.

The evacuation of Namur took place on the 23rd of August, and was a difficult and sorrowful retreat. The march was long, the horses exhausted, the temperature very high, and the Uhlans sometimes very near indeed, but what did all that matter? We had to rejoin our fellow-soldiers with the fighting army. And after various incidents we reached Coulommiers and La Ferté. From there we went to Havre, and had a few days of peaceful life, in the midst of a population whose hospitable welcome has left grateful memories in our Belgian hearts. Four steamers then took us back to our own country. We had time to re-equip ourselves and, after a few days at Contich, we took part in the operations around the retrenched camp. There were reconnaissances to be carried out to the north of Malines, and in the direction of Louvain, Lippeloo, etc. Our officers kept surpassing each other in activity and daring, and the men were as brave as their chiefs.

At the beginning of October, the besiegers commenced the general attack of the position organised on the north bank of the Nèthe. At the same time, they made some attempts to force the passage of the Escaut at Baesrode, Termonde, and Schoonaerde. The 4th Army Division and the 1st Cavalry Division stopped them. The rôle of the 1st Lancers, at that time, was to send out reconnaissances beyond Termonde, to Gyseghem and Audeghem and then, when the enemy was too insistent, to ensure the guarding of the Escaut and, if necessary, the defence of the river between Dyck and Schoonaerde.

Towards the 4th of October, the situation became rather critical. The following is an extract from an account given by Captain Commander Cartuyvels de Collaert, who depicts the situation faithfully as far as his Squadron was concerned. The others had experiences just as critical.

"A Company of Infantry in the first line," he says, "and my Squadron in the second line were to prevent the Boches from passing the bridge, which had been partially destroyed, at Schoonaerde.

"In the afternoon of the 4th of October, there was violent firing from the enemy. I evacuated the horses quickly. Part of the little hamlet of Dael, to the south of Berlaere, where the horses then were, was literally shattered.

"During the bombardment, Staff Deputy Colonel Joostens, who was then Major, arrived at Berlaere on his way to the Schoonaerde bridge. I was stopped by the shells at the last houses, to the south of Dael, and had just time to fling myself into a ditch two yards to the east of the road, in front of a farm which received four or five projectiles. A little while after this, Staff Commander Adjutant Major Yperman hastened up to me.

"'Where is the Major?' he asked.

"'There,' I answered, pointing to the Escaut. Just at this moment, an artillery salvo saluted his arrival. Honour be to whom honour is due!

"'I fancy you want me to be killed,' said Commander Yperman, laughing.

"To my right, on the other side of the road, was a cultivated field, and then a little farm surrounded by hedges. I saw a firing effect there that seemed extraordinary. The shells were raining down. Suddenly, a ball of fire, which looked about three or four yards in diameter, came along quickly, parallel with the road in the direction of the little farm, but close to the ground. It cleared the hedge, scarcely touching it, just as a horse might have done at a hunt. It was a very pretty sight!

"We had no losses that day, but alas, it was a very different thing the day following. Towards evening, I received orders to fall back and occupy, with my Squadron, the south border of Berlaere.

"Lieutenant Roup was hit in the leg by shrapnel, but was not seriously wounded. At night, a fresh communication arrived. My brave Lancers were to go into the trenches that I had been to inspect near the Schoonaerde bridge. The Boches were on the other side of the river.

"The following morning, the 5th of October, we were to be four or five hundred yards to the east of the bridge, in order to let our Artillery shoot over Schoonaerde. Just at this point, the Escaut makes a slight concave bend towards the north, that is on our side. I was, therefore, afraid of two things. First, there was the danger that the Germans, covered by their own Artillery, might cross the bridge without our seeing them, as we were rather far from it ourselves. Then I feared that we might be surprised from behind, on account of the turn in the Escaut, as Boche sentinels were visible on a sort of cupola, at the top of a German manufactory near the Schoonaerde station, a manufactory which we had not been allowed to destroy by fire the week before. Towards 6.30, I went to the bridge, after telling my men to hide in the small trenches we had made during the night in the embankment of the Escaut. On arriving as far as the church, I heard the roar of cannon. I had a pang at my heart, dreading lest the target should be my poor Squadron. Two minutes later, a formidable storm burst over our wretched little trenches, and this storm continued for half an hour.

"'Not a single man will be left,' I said to myself, as the projectiles passed, one after another, twenty yards in front of me, with an infernal noise. The whizzing of the shrapnels and the roar of the shells were frightful. The air seemed to be torn by them and the commotion was terrible."

The following is an episode of what took place in the trenches, according to a letter from Lieutenant de Burlet, which I received a few days later.

"At Schoonaerde, I lost seven men of my platoon. One of them was a sub-officer and another my poor orderly, whom you saw by me in the trench. A shrapnel burst two yards away from us, taking off my poor Tuitinier's face. I took refuge under his dead body from 6.30 to 7.45 when, after escaping a thousand dangers and feeling all the revulsions of the body which was protecting me, each time it was hit by the splinters from the shells, I beat a retreat on hearing your whistle."

"At about 7.30," continues Commander Cartuyvels, "the firing ceased. I left my shelter and heard German being spoken on the other side of the water. Piff! paff!... A ball had hit me in the chest, but by a miracle had been turned aside by a pocket-knife. A second hit me in the left knee.

"I had received instructions to remain as long as I thought it possible. Considering that the position could no longer be held, I gave orders to my Squadron to beat a retreat. I tried to start as well as I could on all threes, as I could not use my fourth member. I got into a ditch, which was full of water, and then into a second one. I was up to my neck in water and I then dragged myself along on the wet grass. Another ball broke my right thigh, near the hip. I was settled now and I pretended to be dead, but, in spite of this, these 'cultivated creatures' continued firing on me. What a mental retrospection one has time for when one has to stay for twelve or thirteen hours under the enemy's balls!

"I wrote on my cuffs to my wife and to my mother, bidding them farewell, and I lay there waiting for death! The shells continued to rage over my head and the bullets to whizz through the air. A foot-soldier, crawling along a few yards away from me, was shot through the head. He uttered a hoarse cry and his soul passed away.

"In the afternoon, I either had a dum-dum ball or one that had been turned aside in my left thigh, and this caused me great suffering.

"When the darkness came on, thanks to a little whistle which I always used for giving orders, I was found by Quartermaster de Looz-Corswarem and Thibaut of my Squadron. They were helped by a civilian and by a private belonging to the Infantry, whose name I believe was Ledent, and I was put on to a wheelbarrow and taken to Dael. I was saved!

"Under the direction of Dr. Godenne, de Looz and Thibaut brought in several other wounded men. They have since received a military decoration for their fine work. Seventeen men were killed or reported missing that day, and seven were wounded and taken to the hospital. Out of three officers engaged in the combat, two were seriously wounded, and one escaped by using the body of his orderly as a shield. The 4th Squadron had proved itself worthy of its country!

"Things were no better on the 6th. The reserve Squadrons intervened in their turn and held out wonderfully. Nothing whatever disturbed their equanimity. What brave men they were! They were told that if the enemy attempted to come to close quarters, they could defend themselves with the butt end of their guns, as they had no bayonets. They accepted this perspective with sang-froid and with that decision which had always been their characteristic.

"Lieutenant-General Michel sent them his warmest congratulations on the following day. I transmitted the same to my troop in the following words:

"'After the combats in the neighbourhood of Schoonaerde and Appels, the Lieutenant-General in command of the 4th Army Division has begged me to convey his warmest congratulations to all the officers, sub-officers, brigadiers, and men of the regiment who, for several consecutive days, carried out an extremely difficult and exposed service in the trenches. The exceptionally firm and resolute conduct of the 1st Regiment of Lancers has won the admiration of Lieutenant-General Michel and I am proud and happy to transmit to all those who have merited it the testimony of his great satisfaction. We shall none of us ever forget those of our comrades who fell during these cruel days, nor any of those whom we have lost since the beginning of the campaign, and our courage and activity will be greater than ever now, in order to avenge and honour their memory.'"

The retreat led us in the direction of the Yser, and we were frequently in close contact with the enemy's Cavalry at Thourout, Moerbeke, Vladsloo, and Bovekerque, and finally, after the great battle, the Squadrons, giving up for the time their spurs, mingled during long months with the foot-soldiers, in order to share with them in the work of organising and defending the trenches.

The King considered that the 1st Regiment of Lancers had specially distinguished itself at Schoonaerde, at Selzaete, and before Dixmude, and rewarded a number of my brave officers by granting to them the following distinctions:

Colonel A.E.M. Joostens, Major A.E.M. Lemercier, Captain Commander Cartuyvels: Officers of the Order of Leopold.

Major A.E.M. Yperman, Captain Commander Ch. de Mélotte: Knights of the Legion of Honour.

Captain Commander de Thier, Rosseels: Knights of the Order of Leopold.

Lieutenants Pulincx, Delfosse, Deboek, Laffineur, Orban: Knights of the Order of Leopold.

Sub-Lieutenants Dugardin, Cartuyvels de Collaert, Ch. de Mélotte: Knights of the Order of Leopold.

Drs. Brasseur, Hallez, Godenne: Knights of the Order of Leopold.

Lieutenants Moreau, de Kerchove, de Denterghem: Knights of the Order of Leopold and a citation in the minutes of the Army.

Lieutenant Rolin: Knight of the Order of Leopold and a decoration of the Order of St. Anne (3rd class).

Lieutenant Bertrand: Knight of the Order of the Crown.

Commander Bosquet: A citation in the minutes of the Army.

Army Doctor Evrard. A citation in the minutes of the Army.

Lieutenants Verhaegen, Roup, Fichefet, Count d'Ursel (Georges): A citation in the minutes of the Army.

Sub-Lieutenant Baron Sloet van Oldruytenborg: A citation in the minutes of the Army.

It would take too long to enumerate the rewards of the lower ranks and of the cavalrymen, but I would not finish this brief account without expressing to them my admiration and taking off my hat to all of them, whilst repeating the words of a great chief: "I would go down on my knees to them all."

Wulpen, October, 1915.

CHAPTER XVIII

The Termonde Bridge

By an Officer of the 4th Artillery Regiment

On the 28th of September, 1914, the 1st Group of the 4th Artillery, under Captain Commander T'Serstevens, after distinguishing itself in the combats fought to the south of Termonde, at St. Gilles, at Audeghem and at Wieze, came to Grembergen to take the place of the batteries of the 4th Brigade, which was made up of various units. Of all the positions at Termonde, that of the bridge itself, then occupied by a cannon intended to take it by enfilade, was the most dangerous of any. All the chiefs of the sections of this group had been on service there, turn by turn. Two of them, Sub-Lieutenants Hiernaux and Mayat, were killed there.

Hiernaux fell at his post, the night of the 1st of October, during an attack by the enemy. The Termonde bridge had been destroyed beforehand, and a wooden bridge had been constructed and mined by a section of the Engineers, who were there ready to blow it up. With the 13th Line Regiment, and a machine-gun, we occupied the left bank of the Escaut and the Germans held the town itself, which was built on the opposite bank. The bridge, therefore, constituted a passage common to us both, and the defensive organisations on both sides were similar and formidable. The banks of the river were merely deep trenches, and the nearest houses served as block-houses for the machine-guns and small cannons. Our lookout men, on the alert all the time, were endeavouring to surprise the enemy's least preparations in the ruins, with which we were already familiar, of the burnt town. The framework of the gaping houses looked, at night, like so many weird skeletons. From time to time, by the light of a moonbeam, we saw figures gliding along between the portions of the walls. Such figures were always promptly saluted by the crackling of a ball and they would then disappear among the ruins. Over yonder, like so many will-o'-the-wisps, little blue flames could be seen at intervals. They were caused by the élite of the enemy's picked guns aiming at any heads which appeared above our parapets.

The night of the 1st of October was a beautiful, starry autumn night. The German Artillery, after an excessively violent bombardment, which had lasted several hours and had obliged our much-tried Infantry to leave the dyke and to curve round the other parts of the bridge, now fired less frequently. The soldiers, leaning against their shelters, were enjoying fresh air in relative tranquillity.

A vigilant sentinel suddenly hailed his chief. He had just seen a dark compact mass moving along. It was not very visible by the light of the moon, but it appeared to be making for the bridge.

There was no doubt about it, the enemy was trying to effect a passage. At the signal of alarm, foot-soldiers, machine- and cannon-gunners rushed to their posts, and the storm immediately broke loose.

Under the protection of a violent and continuous firing from the right bank, an assaulting column came out from the principal street of Termonde. The first men were carrying mattresses, which they endeavoured to use as shields; the others followed, in close ranks without any order. They looked more like a flock of animals than a regularly constituted troop. They were singing their famous Gloria Victoria and appeared to be absolutely drunk. After the first discharges of musketry, the artillery gun had its men hors de combat, with the exception of Sub-Lieutenant Hiernaux and the man in command of the cannon, who both opened fire on the assailants. The machine-gun entered into action as well, whilst the soldiers of the 13th Line Regiment fired direct on the German troops who, nevertheless, managed to get a footing on the bridge.

The officer of the Engineers who had mined it had two discharges. Seeing that the assailants who were killed were instantly replaced by others, and that the enemy was threatening the left bank, this brave man established the electric contact. To our stupefaction, no detonation followed. The Germans had now reached the end of the bridge. Without any excitement, the officer seized the second discharge. A formidable explosion took place, flinging into the distance the ruins of the bridge, fragments of human beings, and various objects of their equipment. All fell pêle-mêle into the river and on to the banks, covering the soldiers who were hidden there with blood and with human shreds. In face of this disaster, the assaulting column stopped short, horrified, and then rushed back in disorder towards the town, whilst huge flames rose from the piles of the bridge which had been soaked in petroleum.

The surprise attack had failed, and two more weak attempts were cut short by our shelling. The usual vengeance was then resorted to. The enemy Artillery concentrated its fire on the vicinity of the bridge. Our brave troops lived through one of those critical moments when the destructive power of the human machine is only comparable to the grandeur of souls ready for any sacrifice. For one long hour, our soldiers were submitted to a storm of steel which, with a hellish clatter, warned them of a fresh attack. It was necessary to conquer the intense nervous strain, to watch without ceasing, and to examine all the impenetrable and threatening fortification works on the other bank of the river. It was whilst examining all this, from above the shield of his cannon, that Sub-Lieutenant Hiernaux fell, just at the critical moment, struck between the eyes by a ball. His fine death proved to us once more all that there is of energy, sang-froid, and courage among our subaltern ranks.

Quartermaster Francotte ordered the officer's body to be carried to a neighbouring shelter and he covered it over with a wrap. He then took Hiernaux's place at the cannon and kept his aids there all night, whilst the neighbouring trenches had to be abandoned for a time, as they were impossible, on account of the gas from the explosion of the shells.

Two days later, Sub-Lieutenant Mayat was on service at the bridge. In the afternoon, the Commander of the group and his aid came to examine the adversary's organisation. The heads of the three officers, Sub-Lieutenant Mayat between the other two, were just for an instant above the shield formed by the cannon. This formed an excellent target for those on the other side. A ball whizzed by and one of the heads disappeared. Mayat, without uttering a cry, fell against his chief, and a stream of red blood spurted from his pierced temple and inundated his face, which had turned suddenly livid.

At present, the two friends are sleeping their glorious sleep side by side, in the little cemetery of Grembergen, where we buried them reverently. The day will come when those who know of their noble death and who, more fortunate than they, have been spared, will be able to go and place flowers on their tombs, in order to show their gratitude and admiration.

But no homage can be equal to the tears of sincere grief of the officer who was sent to take Sub-Lieutenant Mayat's place, when he saw his comrade lying at his post, in all the rigidity of the last sleep.

CHAPTER XIX

The No. 7 Armoured Car

By Sub-Lieutenant G. Thiery, of the 1st Regiment of Guides, in Command of the Group of Armoured Cars of the 1st Cavalry Division

What an easy and pleasant task it is to relate the adventures of another person and to praise the exploits and the courage of a friend. But how delicate and trying it is to describe one's own deeds! To the man who considers himself rewarded by the feeling of having done his duty, it is by no means easy to have to say: "I was there and this is what happened to me...." However, since I am requested to give this account, I must do so.

It was at Wommelghem, near Antwerp, that, on the 4th of September, 1914, I was given command of the No. 7 armoured car attached to the Cavalry Division. I will begin by congratulating those who invented and thought out this engine of warfare. Some have been built which were six months in the work-shops. Of these, some are monuments which can never be utilised, and others are wonders invented in offices, which need to be stripped of three quarters of their improvements, in order to be of any use under fire. In three weeks, the Minerva factory and the Cockerill work-shops delivered to the Belgian army what I believe to be the best armoured car in use. It is sure, easily worked, rapid, strong, and efficiently protected. The No. 7 car brought me a number of brave men. First there was Count Guy de Berlaymont, the personification of courage and indifference to danger; then Constant Heureux, bravery and abnegation made man; finally Dujardin and Gouffaux, two good and valiant soldiers. All of them, like myself, were volunteers.

Without any preliminaries, we found ourselves at once in the midst of the drama.

On the evening of the 5th of September, at the Criterium at Antwerp, Lieutenant Hankar, Count Henri de Villermont, Prince Baudouin de Ligne, Misson, Philippe de Zualar, Berlaymont and I were sitting round a table, discussing our departure joyfully.

On the evening of the 6th, Berlaymont and I were again at the Criterium, and big tears came to our eyes, as we looked at the empty seats which had been occupied, the previous evening, by our friends. That afternoon, whilst patrolling round Herenthals, we heard that their vehicles had been attacked near Zammel. All that we were able to snatch from the enemy had been three dead men, four wounded ones, some weapons, and two armoured cars.

The Germans had now a fresh item, and a very big one, on the account that we had to settle with them.

On the 8th of September, we had our revenge. For the second time, the army made a sortie from Antwerp, and the Cavalry Division, forming the left wing, advanced towards Louvain. Information of all kinds poured in at Headquarters and one detail struck General de Witte, that chief of whom I can never speak without the greatest respect and admiration. The General had been told that the village of Werchter was only weakly guarded. A bold stroke might make us masters of the passage of the Dyle. This stroke was to be attempted.

The execution of it was confided to the Battalion of Cyclist Carabineers, that heroic phalanx which does not need to be introduced to any one, so well is it known. Everyone is acquainted with our diables noirs (black devils), those of Haelen, and of everywhere else where there were blows to be given and laurels to reap, that band of brave men who always set out laughing, dressed their wounds whilst singing, and returned to the fight the following day, their natural ardour increased by the desire to avenge the deaths of the previous day.

My armoured car set out at the head of the little column. Between Schriek and Tremeloo, a Company of Cyclists was left to serve as support for the two others who went forward. We arrived at Tremeloo. In this devastated and deserted village, Lieutenant Fritz de Menten and half a platoon of the 2nd Lancers were awaiting us. They confirmed the information that Werchter was only held by a small force. They had been assured that the Boche foot-soldiers, with the exception of those who were doing the cooking in the Square, were all busy getting drunk on yack op at the wine-shop.

What enthusiasm there was amongst us! Our two hundred and fifty Cyclists were relishing the joy that they would have in seeing their old acquaintances again, the Prussian pilferers, house-burners, and torturers. They set off in three columns. The middle one, which I led, took the direct road. Another one turned to the left, in order to attack Werchter, by the Dyle. The third column took the plain to the right, in order to approach the village from the north. Lieutenant de Menten's half platoon served as scouts for the column on the left. We rushed off at full speed. The bridge over the Laak, a small tributary to the right of the Dyle, was soon crossed, the cycles were then left, and the sharp-shooters went off at a trot, stooping in order to be hidden in the harvest fields.

I reached the first houses in Werchter with my car. There was not a soul to be seen! This silence and mystery did not seem natural to us. A hundred yards away, the chief street was barricaded. An inhabitant assured us that the few Boches who had occupied Werchter had already taken flight in the direction of the bridges. We immediately took the machine-gun out of the car, together with its support and the cases of cartridges, intending to carry all this over the barricade, which the motor-car could not cross, and then sweep the bridge with balls, so that our prey should not escape us.

Berlaymont, with the machine-gun on his shoulder, and a cyclist carrying two cartridge cases, were the first to enter the street. They had not gone ten steps when they were greeted by a volley of bullets. The shooting was from all the windows and the cyclist had his arm broken. This volley was evidently a signal, as the whole circumference of Werchter now broke out into short flames. An infernal firing then took place, interspersed with the tac-tac-tac of Maxims. Werchter was a trap. We were attacking the enemy one against four, and our adversary was invulnerable behind the walls of the houses. Our retreat was obligatory, but the question was, Could the destruction of the Battalion be avoided?

It is in these tragic moments that the worth of a troop can be judged. In reply to their officers' whistling, the Cyclists fell back in good order, replying at the same time to the enemy's firing. Just as though they were at drill, my men put back the machine-gun support in its box, and strapped it up, whilst the chief gunner put his cannon on its battery and awaited the order to fire. In the car, each man took the place assigned to him beforehand: the chief gunner standing up by the side of the driver. The latter charged the machine and also attended to his driving. The second gunner was seated in Turkish fashion at the back. He passed the charges full and arranged the empty cases. The chief was kneeling down at his side, the upper part of his body higher than the plating. It is his part to direct the aim, with the aid of his field-glasses. This is the dangerous post, at which three quarters of those killed in armoured cars have had their skulls pierced. I have been wounded twice in the head at this post.

Our Cyclists were now beginning to recross the Laak bridge, and we opened a rapid fire on the limits of Werchter, where the enemy appeared to be coming out in our pursuit.

Firing attracts firing, and a shower of balls crackled over the armoured car, passing close to our ears with the noise of huge, furious flies buzzing quickly through the air.

Our brave Hotchkiss fired without ceasing. The second gunner was tending his machine as though it were a pet animal. As soon as it had spit forth its shower of a hundred balls, he quickly put a pinch of vaseline on the piston and a damp rag over the cannon. In five minutes, a thousand cartridges had been fired. The cannon was getting warm. From black, it had changed to blue and was mottled with spots. It had to be changed. We were advancing towards the Laak bridge, which all the Cyclists had now crossed. As we went along, we encouraged the wounded ones who were trying to crawl along as far as there. We changed the cannon, whilst under fire. There was a bolt to draw, then a few blows of the mallet on a big key, the cannon was grasped between rags and plunged into a basin of cold water. With a hissing noise, a long spurt of boiling water flowed up-hill. Whilst the chief gunner examined the mechanism of his machine and greased it, his helper drew the second cannon from its sheath and put it in its place. With a thud, it settled and, the whole operation having taken forty seconds, we were once more ready to fire.

The enemy was now coming out from Werchter. I could see the lines of sharp-shooters distinctly. They were advancing in the fields of rye and beet-root.

"Do you see them?" I asked.

"Yes."

"At three hundred yards, mow them down with volleys of sixty, if you like, Fire!"

And our Hotchkiss continued its noise, which sounded like a huge sewing machine. Over yonder, we saw the grey fellows tumbling over each other, running, hiding. And the balls whizzed round us quicker than ever.

The Cyclists were still five hundred yards away from us in their retreat, but our cannon was again getting warm and, besides this, the extractor was dirty and some of the balls failed. We fell back a second time and, behind a hedge, the changing of the cannon again took place. This time we had the additional complication of changing the extractor. The enemy took advantage of this for advancing at full speed.

"Quick! quick! is everything ready?"

The car fell back. A hundred yards from the bridge there was a good place for it. From there we could see for five hundred yards along both sides of the route skirting the Laak. This time we were keenly on the watch. We no longer replied to the firing intended for us: it was no use wasting munition haphazard. The chief gunner to the right, and I to the left, watched the groups which arrived on the bank of the river.

Rrann!... and there was a charge[6] for each group. How many fell like that! It was good firing, with certain result. And there was no hurry now, so that the cannon only got gradually warm.

The combat had been going on for forty minutes. The Cyclists must have reached Tremeloo. There were still the wounded ones to look after. Berlaymont and I got down and picked up six or seven of them. We placed them on the chests, on the wings, on the platform, at the back, and even on the hood. This exasperated the Boches, who fired on us furiously. We now made off, but on the Tremeloo road, we came across about twenty poor wounded men, dragging themselves along in the most lamentable way. They stretched out their hands to us, beseeching to be picked up. It was impossible to abandon them. Six volunteers of the Cyclist rear-guard offered their services. They discovered a cart and an old horse which, by some miracle, had remained among the ruins of a farm and, whilst they were doing this, the machine-gun received certain indispensable repairs. The car then started once more towards Werchter, followed by the cart transformed into an ambulance. About one hundred yards in front of the bridge, a wounded man was lying across the road. He begged to be picked up at once. We fastened him to the platform and thought no more about him, for the balls were raining down again. The Boches had crossed the bridge and we had to drive them back, so that we could pick up the wounded men. We advanced slowly, giving our enemies a hellish fire. They were running from hedge to hedge, quite near to us.

Lieutenant de Menten, who had been taken prisoner at the beginning of the action, and was freed later on, told us about this part of the fight. The Germans, two battalions and a squadron strong, dragged him along with them in the pursuit, and we came very near freeing him ourselves. For a short time, he was surrounded by the dead and he had to lie down flat in a ditch, in order to avoid sharing the fate of his keepers. We were only one hundred yards away. We had painted a gigantic 7 on our car, out of sheer bravado. A German officer told him that evening that that "cursed Number Seven" had killed more than two hundred men in an hour.

Our provision of 4500 cartridges was coming to an end though. We began to fall back a little, especially as the balls were now coming from right and left. There were no longer any wounded men on the road, as our brave Carabineers had worked well.

"Good Heavens!" we suddenly exclaimed "and what about the man we picked up and put at the back of the motor-car?" When our last volley was fired we visited him, expecting to find him in a piteous state. Miraculously, he had not a single scratch more than when we had picked him up, and yet the back of the car was riddled with marks of bullets. What a piece of good luck for him and, as for us, our men were all there; we had not lost one.

During that second sortie from Antwerp, we had magnificent chances of distinguishing ourselves every day. On the 10th of September, for instance, we started from Rhode St. Pierre with some Pioneers and, slipping between German posts and patrols, we reached Cumptich, near Tirlemont, about ten miles behind the enemy's lines. Whilst the Pioneers were destroying the railway line from Louvain to Liége, we kept a lookout on the road. A red auto came along. It was a Pipe, 12 horse-power, 1912, driven by a German soldier, and there were two conceited-looking officers in it. Berlaymont seized his carbine and, at a hundred yards' distance, fired twice. Each ball hit an officer straight. The car stopped short and the chauffeur held up his arms. We rushed forward, our Brownings in our hands. The two officers were on the floor of the car, with their heads open.

"What a pity," said Berlaymont, regretfully, "they have made a mess of the leather!"

After securing the chauffeur, we started along the road in our car. On approaching the sentinels, we called out to them: "Come here, or you are dead men."

Not one of the five prisoners we made attempted to defend himself. As soon as they saw the armoured car, they threw down their weapons and put their hands up. Some of them knelt down and asked for pardon. On returning, our captured car came to a stand-still and the prisoner chauffeur repaired it with the most obsequious eagerness. The climax was that, just as we were setting off again, we heard a voice calling out: "Stop, stop, you have forgotten me." It was one of our prisoners, who had got down while the car was being repaired and whom we had not missed.

That same day, the 10th of September, I had two more big fights, and was able to advance as far as Blauwput, a suburb of Louvain. Unfortunately, this cost me the life of Corporal Royer, a very brave man who had already had honourable mention in his Division. In the afternoon, we had the Pellenberg fight, where the violent resistance of the German Marine Fusiliers stopped our progress.

Until we reached the Yser, my car was engaged on an average three times a day. It would be impossible to tell of all our skirmishes, so I will only give the most interesting episodes.

On the 27th of September, at Alost, my car was sheltering in the little street of the Morseel bridge, behind a barricade made of herring barrels. We had to wait there and could see nothing, whilst shells were falling all round us. Suddenly, a projectile fell right on the barricade and filled our car with herrings. It was a perfect infection, and never had our nostrils been poisoned by any odour as disagreeable as that. Whilst we were raging and holding our noses, a tall American fellow came up with a cinematograph photo apparatus.

"Captain," he said, "I am the operator of an American Cinematograph Company. May I have the honour of taking views of your motor-car in fighting position?" We had scarcely recovered from our amazement, when a shell dropped on a neighbouring house, which immediately fell on us and on the American, in the midst of a cloud of dust and a frightful noise. With the most superb calmness, Berlaymont called to me: "Look out, it is always a good thing to notice the objective." He got up and began searching for the objective. Just at this moment, we saw the Cinema American, who had stepped back a few yards and, with his apparatus still on its three feet, was taking views phlegmatically.

Between eleven o'clock and twelve, we received orders to fall back one hundred yards, in order to support the platoon of the 5th Lancers, under the command of Lieutenant van den Elschen. It was entrenched behind a barricade of tan bales. Our enemies were not visible and we were only aware of their presence by the arrival of shells. One of these projectiles broke in the window of the Delhaize grocery shop. It was most providential for us, as it allowed us to lunch copiously on the verandah, free of charge, with a musical accompaniment, composed of the latest tango airs, played on the piano by Lieutenant Poncelet. Things went on very well until another shell knocked down a chimney. As this fell on the verandah, we had to move from there. We returned to our barricade and found the Cinema operator getting our horsemen to rehearse a "Defence of Alost." "I have only taken a bombardment, so far," he explained, "and I should like to get a real fight."

Amused at this idea, the officers allowed him to direct operations. Commanded in nigger French, our horsemen first repulsed an imaginary attack of the enemy, by fire, and then executed a brilliant counter-attack. Victims were now wanted.

"Some dead men now, the ground must be strewn with corpses," ordered the American.

The excitement of the troops was such, though, that he had to repeat his injunctions, in order to keep the corpses lying still on the ground until the film had finished turning. These views appeared in the Daily Mirror, of October 1, 1914, under the title of "The Defence of Alost," and have been given in all the London Cinemas. My readers may, perhaps, see them later on on the screen at Brussels. They will know then that, of the whole story, only the bombardment was authentic.

On the 6th of October, our motor-car came very near having a fine feat of arms to its credit. At Schoonaerde, on the road from Wetteren to Termonde, the Germans had placed a battery of field Howitzers, which was bombarding our trenches on the left bank of the Escaut. The armoured car 7 and the Lancers were on observation about two miles away, near Wetteren, at the entrance to Wichelen. Between Schoonaerde and us, the road was only barred by the hamlet of Bohemen, which was weakly guarded by the enemy. We decided to attempt a big venture. Whilst Berlaymont, the man who feared nothing went off by the railway line with three sharp-shooters to attack Bohemen, I rushed into the hamlet at full speed with the motor-car. Some carts had been placed in a way to bar the road. Our car knocked them over, and we were then within six hundred metres of the enemy battery in action.

My chief gunner, Heureux, opened fire. It was a thing to see the way the artillery-men, taken by enfilade, came down! Those who survived, and there were very few of them, cut the tethers of the horses, sprang on to their backs, and made off. We thought the battery was ours, but alas! it was not. The Belgian Artillery saw an armoured car in a place where there could only be Boches. It opened a quick fire on us. Their shells ploughed up the ground and our armoured car was riddled with shrapnel fragments. The Belgians aimed too well and we were obliged to leave. Half an hour was lost in telephoning to the Commander of the Artillery that he was mistaken. We rushed into Bohemen again and saw our cannons once more. What joy it was!

But the Boches had had time to cover them. To our right, fifty metres away, the hedge along the railroad was held by sharp-shooters with a machine-gun. In front of us, a farm and its kitchen garden on the road were also occupied, and we were greeted by a fearful, direct fire. I gave up my steering wheel, for when Berlaymont is not there, I am the only one who can drive, and directed the fighting. Handled by Heureux, a clever marksman, our machine-gun spit forth what was certain death. The firing became weaker from every place on which we turned our gun. Suddenly, I felt a double shock in my right arm. The Boche machine-gun had just presented me with two balls. Heaven be thanked, I had seen it though, and Heureux silenced it by bringing down its gunners. Suddenly, and without ceasing his work, Heureux called out to his aid: "Go on charging, I cannot do any more."

I looked and saw that his left hand had been torn off by a dum-dum ball. I had another terrible shock myself, this time in the head. I was conscious of falling from the car to the ground ... and then ... I knew nothing more. When I came to myself I was lying at the bottom of the car, and my gun was still fizzling. It was being worked by the second gunner. Heureux, who had looked after me until I was conscious again, said, quite simply:

"Now that I have picked you up, it is your turn. You must drive the car." It was by no means easy. My right arm was useless, and the blood from the open wound on my temple half blinded me. As well as I could, altering the speed with my right foot, I was able to start the car. Under the fire of the Boches I had, once more, to overturn the carts they had again put in place.

At Wichelen, Berlaymont joined us again. He was furious that we had had an armoured car fight without him. And whilst the ambulance took Heureux and me off, he obtained a reserve machine-gun, installed himself in the car, all dripping with blood, and went off to kill a score of the Boches who had treated his friends in such an evil way.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XX

The Wavre-St. Catherine Combat

By Sub-Lieutenant Henroz, in Command of the 1st Company of the 1st Battalion of the 2nd Regiment of Fortress Carabineers

(September 28-October 10, 1914)

As the Germans were harassed by the Belgian army and uneasy as regarded the flank of their line of communication, they decided to take their revenge on the Antwerp fortress, which was the refuge of our army after each of our offensive operations.

At the end of September, the enemy had received a reinforcement of troops of all kinds of arms, but more particularly of siege Artillery and Pioneers, as these had been freed by the fall of Maubeuge.

On the 27th of September, at 7 in the morning, I received orders to occupy the trenches with my Company and to suspend all work. My Company was in the interval of the Dorpveld redoubt and the Wavre-St. Catherine Fort. It was supported on the right by the Company of the Staff Deputy Captain Commander Havenith, who was in command of the interval. The Germans, that day, had commenced driving back the detachment of the 1st Army Division, which was holding the front of the line. We knew, therefore, that they were going to attack us, but we were convinced that our positions were absolutely inviolable, as we had organised them so carefully and they were bristling with engines of warfare of every kind. We awaited the first contact, therefore, with the greatest confidence. The whole day was very calm all around the Fort. A Belgian aëroplane was brought down and fell in our lines, near to our little post.

Monday, September 28th. There was every promise of a fine day. Far away, in the background, two Boche captive balloons went up. They were rocking about at the wind's pleasure, in a threatening way. We could hear the purring of their motors. Both these signs were prophetic of an imminent attack. Towards 11 o'clock, a distant whizzing sound was heard. This was soon transformed into a thunderous roaring, which increased all the time and finished in a formidable explosion. Through the trench lookout, we could see, at about 150 metres in front of the Wavre-St. Catherine Fort, a column of smoke at least twenty yards high. It was a 420 millimetre which had just exploded. Exactly eleven minutes later, a second shell fell, with the same noise, within fifty yards of the glacis. Every man was ready, and all eyes were fixed on the Fort with anguish. We did not have to wait long for the third shell. Eleven minutes later it burst, straight on the Fort....

"Poor Catherine!" said the men. In spite of her wounds, though, Catherine continued spitting forth her balls. The firing of the 420 continued, at intervals of eleven to twelve minutes, the whole of the morning. During the afternoon, the firing was still more intense and the shells then arrived in salvos of two. Many of them, fortunately for the Fort, missed their mark, but the resistance was seriously endangered. The cementing and the plating had only been calculated in view of a bombardment with guns of twenty-one centimetres at the most. We frequently saw five or six of the artillery-men come out from the earthworks and, between two storms, climb quickly on to the Fort and fill up the excavations, made by the projectiles, with sacks of earth. At the approach of the next bolides, they rushed away again as quickly as they could. Some of them even, braving the metal monsters, continued their work. These courageous men gave the soldiers in the trenches a fine example of heroism. We watched them in amazement and felt our own courage increase. The bombardment ceased at exactly 4.30 in the afternoon. The cement of the Fort was cracked and the passages blocked by the sickening odour of the gases. There was no victim on either side. The Wavre-St. Catherine Fort had received its baptism of fire.

Tuesday, September 29th. The 1st and 2nd Divisions were now in the 3rd Sector, Waelhem-Lierre; the 3rd and 6th Divisions in the 4th Sector, Waelhem-Escaut; the 4th Division occupied Termonde, and the 5th formed the general reserve. The bombardment began again at daybreak, and very soon the huge shells were falling thickly on the Fort. Occasionally, one of these masses, badly aimed, burst on the interval. It was a regular earthquake. The ground shook and it seemed as though the earth were about to open and swallow us up. Presently, the firing increased in intensity. At certain moments, the Fort was cannonaded, at a speed of twenty to twenty-five a minute, with shells of every calibre. The noise was deafening. We could scarcely hear each other speak. Everyone feared for the Fort and each time that a shell was "drunk in" by it, the men murmured: "Poor Catherine!" Towards ten o'clock, the firing of shrapnels on to the interval commenced. Commander Havenith gave me the order to occupy the fighting trench, with a section. The remainder of my troop took up their quarters in the trench-shelter, about fifty yards behind us.

During this change, a volley of shrapnels fell on the communication trench. Four men were very slightly wounded, one of whom was Sergeant Claudot, a volunteer. We were obliged to evacuate him. Presently, it was the turn of the Wavre-St. Catherine village to get its share. Several of the volleys made a fair number of victims, some of whom were civilians. This caused a panic and the people, terrified and wild with fear, rushed off taking with them a few of their possessions. The women, in tears, dragged their little ones along with them, and the children, without knowing why, uttered the most heart-rending cries. Just as the darkness was coming on, several houses were in flames. We were present, and absolutely powerless, at this lamentable scene, and we were furious at not being able to avenge these unfortunate people. On every side, the cannon was thundering. The air, saturated with smoke, was bitter, and the odour of the powder was suffocating. Gradually, everything became calm once more and the sentinels went to their posts, just beyond the network of barbed wire. Up to the present, our cooking had always been done in the trench, by the side of the machine-gun shelter. During the bombardment, a wretched shell had plunged into the water in which the soup was cooking, and had scattered the meat and broth everywhere. As all communication with our rear was cut, it was impossible to get fresh food. I advised my men to be economical with what they still had and, above all, to keep their reserve rations at any cost. They were quite calm, unmindful of the danger they had run during the day, and they did not protest in the least. They went bravely to their observation posts, whilst their comrades took a little rest. The night passed by without any incident.

Wednesday, September 30th. The Company was still occupying the same position. The sun had scarcely risen, when the bombarding of the Forts, of the interval, and of the redoubt began as fresh as ever. A reinforcement arrived for me, the 2nd Company of the 3rd Battalion of the 6th Line Regiment, which at once occupied the shelter trench. More than three hundred men were huddled together in this hole. I began to fear a 42 dropping on this trench. What a horrible carnage it would be! I trembled to think of the danger my men were in. They never even thought of this themselves. They were delighted about the unexpected reinforcement and their one idea was victory. Shells of every calibre were raining down from every side, and shell-mines were exploding with a frightful noise. The firing was getting more exact and reached our parapet. The trench shook, and I wondered whether it would fall in. Fragments of the shells fell at our feet, and suddenly one shell hit the trench. As soon as the smoke was dispersed, we saw, with horror, that several men were buried under the débris. We could hear them calling out and, for the first moment, we all remained motionless, riveted to the spot in stupor and horror. Then several men rushed to the rescue of their comrades. I advanced and saw that our poor Vander Stappen had been decapitated. His head lay intact at his feet. Three others, one of whom was Sergeant Dooms, were seriously wounded. The shells continued to arrive in showers. It was frightful! The men were lying down on the ground, with their blankets over their heads to protect them from the shell fragments, and in order that they might not see anything. A soldier, near me, took out of his pocket-book the portrait of his wife and children. There were three of them grouped around their mother. During this infernal bombardment, the poor man, seeing death so near, wanted to see his own family once more. With tears in his eyes, he shook his head sadly. I sat down by him and, in a few words, I managed to revive his courage. He got up suddenly and, shaking his fist in the enemy's direction, called out: "Come on then, you vile Boches, we shall see whether you are as good with the bayonet as with your 42." He had scarcely uttered the last word, when a still more formidable explosion than all the others made us start. The powder room of the Fort had been blown up. Poor Catherine! Our Artillery, placed in the intervals, although like us subjected to a violent bombardment, was answering courageously. Our men were encouraged by this; they felt they were being supported. It was now exactly 11.45. A breathless messenger arrived and, with a trembling hand, gave me a sealed letter. It was an order from the Commander of the fortified position of Antwerp.

"In spite of the bombardment, no matter how terrible it may be, you must resist to the uttermost, even to death!" Good, we will resist!

I dismissed the messenger, a boy of eighteen. Without troubling in the least about the shells and shrapnels, he hurried back to his post. The Germans were still bombarding the Dorpveld redoubt furiously. A 42 fell on a house near the Fort. Nothing was left of it but a heap of ruins, and some of the bricks fell into our trench. The hours passed by and the day gradually came to an end. In the evening, the cannonading was less intense and the soldiers took advantage of this to move about and stretch their limbs. They were gay, glad to see each other again, and to have escaped death. They were also awaiting the arrival of the Boches most hopefully. The results of the day's combat had been: one killed and five wounded. When once the little posts were all organised, everyone was on the watch. None of the men wanted to rest. They were convinced that there would be a night attack and they all wanted to be there, in order to fire the first shot, and to receive the enemy in a proper way. Contrary to our expectation, the night passed by without incident, except for a few patrols being seen near the village.

Thursday, October 1st. The Company occupied the same post. The bombardment, both in the intervals and on the positions in the rear, began again and was still more terrible than on the preceding days. The Boches poured down upon us their projectiles of every calibre. Our men remained there undaunted, in spite of showers of shot. The batteries replied all the time. The Forts alone were silent, as they had been completely destroyed. The bombardment continued with the most intense violence, as though the enemy wanted to crush us completely, by means of the heavy artillery, against which we were, of course, powerless. The noise was beyond all description. In less than twenty minutes, I counted three men killed and about ten wounded. My trench seemed likely to be entirely destroyed and, at all costs, it was necessary to repair it. At my request, several volunteers came forward and, in spite of the bombardment, worked energetically. The losses were great, but not a man dreamed of budging from his post. The order had come to resist to the uttermost, to hold out in spite of everything, and we intended to obey. We were resolved to die at our posts if necessary. The shells continued all the time to rain down on us. In the village of Wavre-St. Catherine, the ravages were terrible. The whole locality trembled under a continuous roar like thunder. It was in this hell that the soldiers entrusted with the defence had to hold out. Sub-Lieutenant Blanckaert and his gunners were stationed near the church. They took shelter as best they could, and one of the most imposing sights was their coolness under the infernal bombardment. The enemy Artillery, with its usual sacrilegious rage, aimed at the Church, which was still standing. The steeple was just hit and some houses near fell in ruins. From time to time, a more formidable explosion was heard, and someone would remark simply: "That's another 42." It was very evident that the enemy was endeavouring to render our positions impossible by the intensity of the bombarding, hoping thus to demoralise us. In our poor trench, which shook and rocked in a way calculated to give us all sea-sickness, the sight was terrifying. Each time that a shell of big calibre struck it, whole positions gave way, burying together the dead, the wounded, and the living. Two, three, and four huge shells a minute fell on it.