Chapter XV: Via Ghent and Bruges to Ostend

During the time I stayed at Antwerp news kept reaching us almost daily of the rapidity with which the Germans were approaching the sea. “Ghent is taken,” “Bruges is taken,” and finally, “To-day our troops have entered Ostend.” On my return to Brussels it looked as if the Allies were going to do their utmost to drive the Germans out of Ostend, and a rumour was in circulation that the British had bombarded the town.

Accompanied by the ever-charming and delightful Consul Petri and his Belgian friend, who took charge of the steering wheel, I proceeded on October 20th to Ostend, equipped with a special pass from the Governor-General. The weather was dull and rainy and dark curtains of heavy clouds hung over the bleak landscape. We drove through avenues of elms along a road paved with Swedish granite, so it might be said that we were travelling on Swedish, Belgian and German ground. Every inch of the country is cultivated or built upon, nothing but houses and farms, hop-fields, corn-fields and kitchen gardens. The draught dogs are very busy, since the war has taken all the horses. One sees remarkably few German uniforms, but a good many natives walking along under their umbrellas. As in Malines, the people wear wooden shoes, and we still come across great numbers of returning fugitives.

At Alost we cross the Dendre by a bridge. Here we find numerous marks of shell fire. At Quaterecht many houses have been destroyed. From Melle the road is lined with an uninterrupted string of nurseries and flower gardens. Horticulture has here reached a high pitch of perfection and potted plants are exported to the United States to the tune of millions.

In Ghent nothing has been destroyed. The town retains its customary appearance. The tramcars are running, all shops are open and there are crowds of people about in spite of the weather. Yet the many German uniforms tell their tale. We stopped to have a look at the magnificent cathedral. We found here an image of the Virgin Mary surrounded by burning candles and by it was a notice that anyone offering up prayers before the image would receive fifty days’ absolution. What the many people kneeling on the praying stools were praying for, we could readily guess.

In the palace of the Counts of Flanders we wandered through subterranean crypts and along crenelated walls. From a commanding crest we had a remarkable view over the red-brick roofs and grey church towers of the town, all dripping with rain.

I had been invited for supper by the charming and friendly war historian, Major-General Friederich, where I met several officers belonging to his staff. The General was now in mourning. His only son had fallen on the field of honour for his country. But the General had other sons, to wit: his Landwehr soldiers, sturdy, strong, willing and lusty fellows. The rank and file was composed of workmen, privy councillors, cobblers’ apprentices, barristers, brewers’ draymen, high court judges, blacksmiths and mayors. Differences in rank, party contentions and class distinctions all disappear in the field without leaving a trace behind them. War levels everything. There is but one rank: that of the warrior who fights for the honour of his country and the freedom of his people.

At nine in the morning of the 21st October we continued our journey. The rain clouds still hung heavy over the narrow streets and the weather did not brighten until we had left the town behind us. At Eclo a company of German cyclists were resting. Bridges span the canals here and there and the latter in turn intersect the country in all directions to carry the many lighters to and fro. There is not much traffic now. Now and again we see large wagons which serve as homes for itinerant families moving from place to place to buy up the tresses of peasant girls, to sharpen knives, to do tinkering and so forth.

Bruges is one of the most celebrated cities of Europe on account of its old-world air, its picturesque houses, its trees and bridges over the canals and its mighty city gates with rounded turrets. I felt I should like to remain to enjoy the repose which seemed to dwell over the many waterways. But now there is no time. We go on through a beech forest and over open fields and reach the village of Ghistelles; a few kilometres further on towards the south-west and we come to a crossing, where we are stopped by an infantry picket. As we halt we hear a violent cannonade within a short distance. Our papers are examined, and we are told that an artillery duel is going on at Middelkerke and that the German positions are on the near side of the long canal connecting Ostend with Nieuport and Dunkerque. A squadron of British warships is said to be lying off the coast and bombarding the German positions, which are also attacked from the land side by Belgian and French troops. But the road to Ostend, which runs first to the north-west and later to the north-north-east, was said to be free. The soldiers thought that we were practically, if not entirely, safe from shells on that road. The most dangerous point was the bend on the other side of the canal, where the road changes its direction. We met coming from Ostend several ammunition columns on the way to the troops at Middelkerke, where numbers of wounded soldiers were returning to the rear.

We got safely past the dangerous corner and arrived safe and sound in the handsome and aristocratic town by the sea, to which Baedeker has given the following testimonial: “Ostend is perhaps at present Europe’s most elegant watering-place.” We drove on to the avenue along the front with its rows of big hotels facing the sea. Most of them are only open during the season, which ends on the 15th September, and during which some 45,000 visitors reside in the town. But Ostend is also the terminus of one of the passenger routes between England and the Continent and this traffic goes on all the year round. Travellers held up by gales or by fatigue can find hotels of a less pretentious kind, but they are situated in the interior of the town.

It was two o’clock when we arrived. I had never been to Ostend and knew none of the German officers, but I had my pass and felt I ought to report myself to the commandant, who was said to be stopping at the _Hôtel Littoral_ facing the sea, so we proceeded there and lunched immediately in the restaurant, for Consul Petri’s time was nearly up and he had to be back in Antwerp before nightfall. I accompanied him and his Belgian friend to the door, thanked them for their companionship and saw them drive off with a little Swedish flag in front cracking in the breeze.

It looked strange, this grey and dreary sea, as one cast one’s glance westward. One seemed to feel the hot breath of war blowing in over the land. The rain had ceased, the weather was clearing, but the sky was still overcast. In the west, at a distance of nine or ten kilometres, we saw plainly and clearly the outlines of thirteen British warships, of which a couple were cruisers and the others large destroyers of the older type. They were firing against the German positions on the Belgian coast and were themselves under fire. One could see them constantly on the move so as to render the German aim and fire more difficult. Yet on the whole they retained their positions and their black hulls were sharply silhouetted against the light horizon. Huge black clouds of smoke rose from their funnels and were blown across the horizon, giving the sky a peculiar streaky appearance.

The swell rolled in, dull and sleepy, over the fine smooth sands of the _plage_. The road facing the sea was open to traffic, but the spacious promenade outside, separated from the sea and _plage_ by an iron rail, was reserved for the German troops. At high tide the sea ascends to the foot of the stone wall of the promenade, whilst at low water it recedes some distance, leaving a wide belt of sand high and dry. This was now occupied by German horsemen who rode out into the water to refresh and harden their tired mounts.

I called upon the commandant at Ostend, _Kapitän zur See_ (naval captain) Tägert. He was staying on the first floor of the _Hôtel Littoral_, and from his balcony we once again observed the British warships. He told me that he and his brother naval officers had arrived at Ostend early the same day, the 21st October. They had gone first to the _Majestic Hotel_, which was supposed to be the best in the town. The proprietor declared that he had no rooms available, which was not true, as the season was long since over. Possibly the name of the hotel explained why there was no room--for German officers. Instead of availing themselves of their right to insist on accommodation, the Germans, anxious to avoid a fuss, went to the _Hôtel Littoral_, which was placed at their disposal from top to bottom. They subsequently found that they had no cause to repent the change. The army officers and doctors, on the other hand, were less amenable and settled down without further ado at the _Majestic Hotel_, where kitchen service and attendance were quickly working at full pressure.

Captain Tägert, a refined and conscientious man, immediately ordered that a room (by the way, the last available at the _Littoral_) be placed at my disposal forthwith. I took possession at once. The corridor on the second floor led straight into the apartments overlooking the sea, the inner doors being already furnished with the name-plates of the German naval officers occupying them. The outer glass doors led to balconies with comfortable basket chairs. From these balconies we had an uninterrupted view of the sea and could watch the British squadron and its movements.

From my splendid point of vantage I could enjoy at leisure the varying phases of a wonderful sunset. In the west the great ball was shining with a curious pink glow now and then running into yellow. The fleecy clouds near by were fringed with gold reflected in the glittering sea. The rest of the sky was overcast and a thin drizzle fell fitfully, whilst the windows on the front gleamed as if the houses were on fire. The British ships lay in the centre of the patch of sea turned golden by the rays of the setting sun. They had been bombarding the German positions all day and I could see the flashes from the guns, followed a long while after by the roar of the report. Now, at 5.20 p.m., German time, the thunder from the guns was so loud and insistent that the windows of the Kursaal shook and rattled. Half an hour later the firing ceased. We assumed that the squadron had gone north to replenish its ammunition. By this time the beam of light had shrunk and the golden tint had faded from the water. Twilight descended upon the sea and the blinking of a couple of gas-buoys began to assert itself. They are there to guide the shipping, but now the fairway was empty and deserted.

During the day I had seen many civilians about, but towards evening they gradually disappeared. Nobody was allowed out after 9 p.m. or before 5 a.m. The streets themselves were not lighted, but several shops were kept with their lights burning until the former hour. On the promenade at the front there was not a single lamp alight--here one wandered in darkness among the German soldiers. Light issued, however, from many windows facing the sea. This was not thought risky, as the enemy vessels well knew their bearings in any case. It was not thought that the British ships would bombard Ostend, as the killing of a hundred or two of Germans and the evacuation of the place would not make up for the loss of the considerable British capital supposed to be invested in the town.

I had been invited to regard myself as a member of the German naval officers’ mess for dinner and supper at the _Hôtel Littoral_. When therefore we assembled at eight o’clock in the restaurant for the first time, I made the acquaintance of them all. Among my special friends, apart from the chief, were Captain-Lieutenant Bess, Lieutenant Haak, Staff-Surgeon Schönfelder and Doctor Kübler. We kept together during the next few days and went through many experiences which we shall never forget.

Whilst we were sitting at table a report was handed in that light signals had been made from a church tower, clearly addressed to the British warships. The instructions issued to deal with this matter ordered a very thorough investigation of the circumstances. The day’s bombardment from the British ships had done no damage beyond killing a few horses. Apart from this the shells had found an “empty billet.”

We sat up late talking, and Captain Bess told us about the sinking of the old “tin box” _Ariadne_, a cruiser of 3000 tons, by the British on August 28th. Bess was navigating officer on board and he assured me that it takes some time before one’s nerves recover their equilibrium after the shock of such an experience. The _Ariadne_ had been doing patrol duty in Jade Bight when in the morning of August 28th she was ordered to scour the sea north-west of Heligoland. The weather was misty and it was impossible to see far ahead. Suddenly a huge grey hulk loomed up through the fog. It was a British “Dreadnought,” and her heavy guns at once began to play. The first “coal box” flew right over the _Ariadne_, so close that several of the crew were flung against the deck by the air pressure. After that the shells kept raining over the doomed little cruiser, which immediately headed for the Jade Bight, her guns returning the fire as best she could. One shot after the other struck the _Ariadne_. After a while her stern was on fire and there was no possibility of bringing the powder magazine under water so as to avert a catastrophe. The fore-part of the ship also caught fire, but not in the bows, where the wounded had been taken and where it was still possible to make one’s way. Next the steering apparatus was hit and the ship seemed to want to make for the British vessel, but somehow or other it was put right again. Words cannot describe the appalling noise which denoted each hit. A deafening crash resounded through the entire hull when the projectile struck its sides. The fire soon spread. Presently it became impossible to serve the guns. In the end the flames reached the parts of the ship where the ammunition was stored. Now began a terrible crackling and hissing as one projectile after the other exploded and shells and splinters poured out in every direction. Another “Dreadnought” dived through the fog, but did not take part in the fight, uneven enough already. The _Ariadne’s_ commander and Bess were on the bridge, the plating of which was perforated from beneath by the exploding ammunition. The heat was unbearable, everything was wreathed in smoke, the deafening detonations followed closer and closer and the final catastrophe was clearly approaching. When the crew saw that the end might come at any moment they broke into a rousing cheer for the Emperor and another for the _Ariadne’s_ commander. Then they sang the

“Stolz weht die Flagge schwarz-weiss-rot
An unsres Schiffes Mast
Dem Feinde weh, der sie bedroht,
Der diese Farben hasst!
Sie flattert an dem Heimatstrand
Im winde hin und her,
Und fern vom teuren Vaterland
Auf sturmbewegtem Meer.
Ihr wolln wir treu ergeben sein,
Getreu bis in den Tod,
Ihr wolln wir unser Leben weihn,
Der Flagge schwarz-weiss-rot. Hurra!”[26]

[26] Black, white and red our noble flag
Up at our masthead flies--
Woe to the foe who scorns that flag,
This ensign who defies!
It gaily flutters in the breeze
Upon our native strand
And out on many storm-tossed seas
Far from our fatherland.
Beneath it firm and true we’ll stand,
Our blood we’ll gladly shed,
And to our last breath will defend
The black and white and red!
Hurrah!

But salvation was near at hand. The two cruisers _Danzig_ and _Stralsund_ showed up through the mist. The crew jumped overboard from the red-hot, burning ship. The British disappeared. The commander and Bess would have been roasted had they remained longer at their post, and they too dived into the sea. As regards the latter, he did not recover consciousness until he found himself in a comfortable berth on board one of the rescue ships. The _Ariadne_ had lost close on seventy men out of her full complement of three hundred.

Thus ended the first day which I spent with the German naval officers at Ostend, that glorious watering-place, at other times the rendezvous of _la haute volée_ and “the upper ten,” that pleasure-ground of innumerable good-for-nothings, where dissipated diplomats bathe their jaded bodies in the pure salt sea, where namby-pamby dandies flirt with idle, fascinating women. Now German imperial power stood like an impenetrable iron wall on the brink of the sea, with its spear pointed at the heart of England. The first goal had been reached, England--fearful of her world supremacy on the sea and jealous of the rapid commercial and economic rise of Germany--had made up her mind to join in the fight and had declared war on Germany. Now, if ever, was the opportunity to get at a hated rival--without too great a sacrifice of her own resources. But already German forces had reached the ocean shore. Antwerp had fallen, the city which Mr. Winston Churchill, like the Duke of Wellington of old, had wished to convert into a British base for operations on the Continent, a point from which the Belgians could be put to rights should they perchance become less patient and show less interest in the sacred cause. Yes, Antwerp--the city which was to be saved for Great Britain even if the rest of Belgium went under--had fallen, in spite of Britain’s protest and in spite of the showers of abuse which the proud British had poured over their honourable enemy. The greatest drama of the world’s history was in full swing. Were the Teutons to go under and the culture of the German “barbarians” to be wiped out? No, never! Such a purpose would require other means for its fulfilment than those hitherto tried by the Allies. The military position of Germany is too strong, and all attempts to crush her people are and must be hopeless. But woe to those who bear the blame for the agony of the vanquished!

It was with a queer feeling that I went to bed in a room where I could look upon a sea from which British warships had only a moment ago been bombarding the coast a few miles away. The fire might easily have been directed on Ostend itself. But this did not come to pass. At least I heard nothing, for I slept like a log. When I awoke war had resumed its thunders in the west.

22nd October. The British bombardment of the coastal zone south of Ostend continued throughout the morning and was still more severe than on the previous day. The window-panes in the hotel restaurant shook in their frames. We wondered whether the deeper sounds emanated from newly arrived German heavy artillery or from British naval guns.

Two German infantry detachments were occupying a line running from north-west to south-east of the north-eastern side of the Yser Canal. On the south-west side of the canal the Belgians and British had entrenched themselves firmly; they also held Nieuport. The immediate German object was to command the crossings of the canal, which in itself formed a very valuable defensive work in the hands of the Allies. The villages of Leffinghe and Slype and the road between them, running south-east of Middelkerke, had been bombarded by the enemy. Leffinghe was only six, Slype nine kilometres from Ostend. The positions of the Germans were enormously strong. They clearly did not intend to let go the advantage they had gained, although encircled by fire from the north, north-west, west, south-west and south, both from the sea and from the land side. The Allies on the other hand realised that every German advance west-south-westward, that is to say towards Nieuport, Dunkerque and Calais, was, to say the least, fatal to themselves. Hence the remnants of the Anglo-Belgian Army, which had thought fit to leave Antwerp before it was too late, had halted in its retreat after receiving considerable reinforcements both from France and England, and had offered a desperate resistance in fortified positions in the western sector of Belgian Flanders, intersected by canals and waterways. It will readily be understood what important British interests were at stake. As soon as England herself was in danger, the famous phlegm was transformed into unbridled hysteria.

Captain Tägert now suggested an excursion to Middelkerke, situated on the coast, eight kilometres from Ostend. Captain-Lieutenant Bess and his adjutant were to accompany me. We drove in the covered car of the former, following the inner sea-road parallel with the shore, but separated from it by intermittent rows of houses. Towards Middelkerke the life and traffic increased. Long food and ammunition columns were being brought up to the rear of the troops. In a street in the little town the men were busy hiding the light canvas awnings of the provision wagons with twigs and branches, and the vehicles looked like so many leafy bowers. Yet I was unpleasantly impressed by the sight of this kind of leafy bower, for in my mind it was too closely associated with impending danger. As I have said before, this sort of disguise is necessitated by the enemy’s air scouting.

We asked a picket where the General-in-Command von Werder had his quarters, and were directed to a modest little house. The General was busy at the moment receiving details of the situation in this part of the theatre of war. A report on the subject had to be sent to Main Headquarters. As soon as this matter was disposed of, we were shown in. The General received us with the greatest kindness. He was in brilliant spirits and possesses in a high degree that immovable equanimity required in difficult situations. Lieutenant-Colonel Wittisch was told to lend us an officer familiar with the field of battle, who would take us to a point of vantage from which we could obtain a view of the situation without too much exposing ourselves to the enemy’s fire. The Colonel asked whether he might not undertake this job himself, and so we promptly seated ourselves in his open car and continued on our way along the sea-front under cover of the only row of houses separating us from the sea. These houses are, however, intersected by several narrow streets like the openings in a gallery, through which we caught sight of the sea and two destroyers which had detached themselves from the British squadron and were now two kilometres away. They were clearly out to observe what was passing on shore, but did not fire, at least not at the moment.

On reaching the last of the stone houses at the western end of Middelkerke we alighted from the car and proceeded on foot some distance south to the crest of the highest dune in the neighbourhood. At this point we were only a little over seven kilometres from Nieuport, which was in the hands of the Allies. We had with us a map of the neighbourhood and commanded a wide radius of the blood-drenched country. Below the crest of the dune, to the south-west, stood the nearest German batteries. They were just on the point of hurling their messengers of death into the allied positions. At every shot we heard that peculiar whining, whistling sound of the projectile, and presently a puff of smoke indicated the point of impact at the other end. All life in the vicinity of this target is destroyed. A hit can kill twenty men and wound as many or more. Yesterday British shells had been raining down from Nieuport and they had reached the spot where we now stood. It is difficult to avoid a feeling of excitement, and one’s attention is strained to the utmost when witnessing an artillery duel over a large area and hearing the incessant heavy dull booming of cannon.

With the map in his hand and with really impressive calm Colonel Wittisch explained everything that was passing in front of us; now and again we stole a glance at the destroyers outside, wondering whether they would soon begin to shoot. In the south-west we noticed the little white puffs of smoke which denote the bursting of shrapnel shells.

When everything had been fully explained to me, the Colonel thought that it was not advisable to remain any longer. There were four of us, and we were within range of all commanding points in the vicinity. If we were noticed from the south side, it would be assumed that we were directing the German artillery and the enemy’s guns would be trained on us. It is a peculiar sensation to know that one may at any moment become a target.

So we walked down from the dunes and back to the car. From the mouth of one of the little streets running down to the sea we observed the two incredibly impudent destroyers, which we were told had been stealing along the coast for the last three days. They had gradually come nearer and nearer, since they noticed no evil intentions from the coast at Middelkerke. Through our glasses we could see the officers on the bridge and the crew moving about on deck. They on their part could see us with equal clearness, but I suppose they did not think us worth powder and shot from a revolving gun. After a while they seemed to make a large sweep, one to the south-west, west, north-west and north-north-west, and the other to the north-east, north and north-north-west, gradually approaching the remainder of the squadron, no doubt to report what they had seen. Of the squadron itself only five ships were discernible through the mist.

Now we could proceed without any risk on our return journey along _La Digue_, the broad, hard road skirting the shore, with its excellent view of the sea. Here all civilian traffic was forbidden and no lights were allowed in the windows. In the evenings and at night the darkness was complete.

After supper, at ten o’clock, I was sitting once more on my balcony, the two gas-buoys were burning and the swell was breaking drowsily upon the shore, drowning the steps of the sentries in the street. But I could see the soldiers by the light from the windows. They moved mostly in pairs, whilst other soldiers stood chatting in little groups, leaning against the iron railing of the promenade and watching the sheaves of fire from the British guns. In the course of ten minutes I counted 141 shots; probably there were more, as several might have coincided. In ten hours this meant 8500 shots, an expensive business.

So I went to bed at Ostend for the second time. I left the balcony doors open--it was too tempting to lie awake awhile to watch the clear sky and listen to the harmonies of the ocean swell and the booming guns. Gradually I drifted into a deep and refreshing sleep.