A Blue Devil of France: Epic figures and stories of the Great War, 1914-1918. Gustav P. Capart
MY ENLISTMENT, ANTWERP.
August 6, 1914.
Already I curse war. I have journeyed seventy-two hours on the railroad to enlist as a soldier.
The recruiting officer in charge said to me when I faced him:
"Ha! another. This is a double invasion, the German invasion and that of the volunteers!"
THE OLD MAN AND THE GOAT, ANTWERP.
August 14, 1914.
All morning there is an uninterrupted cortège of civilians fleeing from the onrushing hordes. They have taken with them everything capable of being carried in their hands. The pathetic sight makes one feel the precipitateness of the flight, the despair, the panic!
A bent old man arrives presently; he walks slowly, fixedly regarding the ground. He is leading a little white goat, which, every ten paces or so, butts the old man with its horns, as if urging him to go faster. The latter does not falter—he walks straight ahead.
One doesn't know whether to laugh or weep.
THE SOLDIER WHO BAYONETS HIS
FIRST BOCHE, BELGIUM.
September, 1914.
A young soldier was seated alongside the road. He belonged to a Regiment of the Division quartered in the neighboring villages. He had a sad and dejected air.
I seated myself at his side because I wanted to know the impression of the men who had already been in battle.
"Have you been under fire?" I queried.
"Yes, corporal."
"How many Germans have you killed?"
I saw a haze of anger pass over the eyes of this young chap who regarded me with a fixed look.
"Just one! I hate the Germans, I swear it, but I tremble to think what I have done—yes, I killed him dead enough!
"Voilà! I am a gardener by trade. I live in the Luxembourg. The garden of my masters—it is all my life. Why has this accursed war broken out? Can they no longer stay at home, the pigs?
"Then I was called and you know the rest, because I will not speak of the first days of the campaign.
"But, voilà! one night we made an ambuscade on a farm in the outskirts of Vilvorde. It was dark. They told us the Germans would possibly attempt a reconnaissance in the village and it was necessary to open their eyes.
"We were placed in a house closer to the enemy lines than the others and it was forbidden to enter the street. Some of my comrades were hidden above on the second floor, but I was hiding back of the front stairs and observed the entrance-way.
"My nerves were overexcited by this long wait. A single ray of the moon wandered over the ground above the gate; it recalled one of my ambushes for flower poachers.
"Night advanced and finally I believed they would never come. Suddenly a well-sustained fire broke out a short distance away. I had fixed my bayonet and now grasped my rifle tightly.
"The gate opened brusquely. The night was clear and I saw a big devil of a German officer, revolver in hand, pass through and enter the walk. He desired without doubt to seek shelter, for he slammed the gate after him.
"This is what passed then in a flash. I left my hiding place—he saw me. In his eyes there was the look of distress one always sees in those of a trapped beast. He shot at me, but so quickly that he did not aim. The report awoke the whole house.
"Already I had jumped at him—and I literally nailed him to the gate.
"Ah! To feel the crushing of bones—when one is accustomed to cultivate flowers—to feel the crushing of bones!"
BRITISH STOLIDITY, BELGIUM.
October 9, 1914.
War? At the beginning no one knew then what it was. The enemy bombarded us with shells of an enormous caliber, which excited, more than anything else, our curiosity.
Two "Tommies" started to swim across the river Nèthe to where the enemy had but recently been thrown back. They repeated to everyone who asked them where they were going:
"We want to see the BIG cannon, yes the BIG cannon!"
THE PRISONERS OF
GENERAL DE MAUD'HUY, NEAR ARRAS.
January, 1915.
Upon leaving table one day with General de Maud'huy, we came upon a group of German prisoners, who immediately looked at us, saluting respectfully.
"These are 'my prisoners,'" the general told me, "they work in the cantonment."
"I had at the beginning about a dozen boches and mustered them every night because we were only ten miles from the line of fire."
"Several escaped?" I asked.
"On the contrary," he replied. "The second night we counted eleven, the third, fifteen. Now there are fifty. We never knew where they came from!"
"I have enough boches. I mustered them all yesterday and told them that if their number kept on increasing I would send them all back. You will agree that it is impossible to keep a strict count under these conditions!"
THE ADMIRAL, NIEUPORT.
March 7, 1915.
I saw Admiral Ronarc'h for the first time to-day.
All morning the city of Nieuport was bombarded with shells of a very large caliber, crushing and enveloping the poor little Flemish homes in great clouds of brick-dust and smoke. The ground trembled. Our Marine Fusiliers[2] must have paid them back in full, for they returned a heavy fire from the large guns of the fortress.
I arrived at Nieuport-Baths along the river Yser with Captain Ricard, who said to me:
"With all that racket, to-day, we are sure to find the Admiral and Commandant Delage——"
At the moment we reached the locks we were well serenaded—the shells literally rained around us. At regular intervals the larger ones burst in the city. Abject ruins—I no longer recognized this once lively little city which I visited during my childhood, dead and deserted to-day!
Finally we came, about four o'clock, to the admiral's shelter, where we found him, with Commandant Delage and the chaplain.
I was received with smiles and hearty handshakes; on similar days one is always sure to be received by the admiral in a most charming manner.
"Lucky chap," he said, "well have you chosen the day of your first visit to Nieuport. What a bombardment, hey! fortunately all goes well, practically no losses—that right, Delage?"
Commandant Delage smiled all over.
"Yes, admiral."
At that moment a shell burst so close that pictures were torn from the walls and a chair was turned upside down. A cloud of dust spouted through the ventilating shaft—at the same time we heard a rumbling of falling walls, the clattering of splintered glass and broken tiling falling on the ground.
Shell hole in the courtyard of Admiral Ronarc'h's commanding post in Nieuport.
We had, for our protection, an arch made of half-thicknesses of bricks. If we must be struck, then we should have, at least, the opportunity of not suffering very long!
Each told his story, tales of the sea and of the war—then—that was not all, there was a programme of work to accomplish, and we at once set about the task.
Toward nightfall, I left the shelter or