Chapter XVI: Ostend Bombarded

On Friday the 23rd October I was called by Dr. Kübler, who suggested a walk to the lighthouse and to the old fortifications. So we wandered off to the new outer harbour, where a sailor rowed us across the canal, whereupon we continued to the flying station, where we arrived just in time to watch the elegant ascent of a _Taube_, which circled up to a considerable height and then disappeared towards the south-west.

The lighthouse rears its white minaret fifty-eight metres above the ground. Tempting as it was, we refrained from climbing up to the light to have a look at Nieuport, Furnes and Dunkerque, which can be seen from the top.

Instead we traced our steps to the ancient fort and its moat, its earth-clad slopes and its five guns dating from 1862. We returned by the electric tramway. The car was filled with soldiers and civilians. The former included an old Landsturm man, who told us that he had three sons in the war, but where they were and whether they were still alive, he had not the faintest notion. “I don’t grudge their dying,” he said, “one must sacrifice all for the Fatherland.”

On returning to the promenade, we settled down on a bench by the Kursaal and examined the British squadron through our glasses. The sky was exceptionally clear, the weather radiant; even the sun came out to have a peep at us.

Just before half-past twelve Captain-Lieutenant Bess came to fetch me. He had just returned from Middelkerke, where he had been with Admiral von Schröder. He told me that the road in which yesterday we had seen the foliage-enshrouded wagons was now anything but safe, and that in fact a couple of shells had been dropped there. Even the soldiers were forbidden to show themselves on the front. Bess dissuaded me, therefore, from attempting a second visit to Middelkerke.

He had another suggestion, combined with less risk, namely to visit a couple of his companies of marines and inspect their quarters. A company and a half had been billeted in the theatre, which was only a few steps away. Outside stood a couple of 6-cm. so-called _Bootskanonen_ (boat guns), neat-looking little guns of the same grey colour as the armoured ships. Their ammunition wagons were lined up along the pavement.

We stepped into the large, handsome foyer. The men had rigged up their beds along the walls--mattresses and pillows had been requisitioned from the Mayor of Ostend. Their arms and clothes were hanging on chairs and coat-hangers and the tables were littered with their cups and crockery.

The first-tier boxes had also been converted into sleeping berths or armouries. The whole of the corridor was filled with beds. We had a look into one or two boxes where the marines were sitting cleaning their rifles, patching their clothes or polishing their accoutrements. In front of us we had the handsomely decorated well of the theatre. Only three months ago this had been the scene of every conceivable extravagance from Paris, Brussels and London. From the box where we were standing we would have been gazing down on row upon row of elegant ladies intent on displaying their charms and jewellery. Not long ago coquettish, languishing glances had been exchanged across the stalls which now stood bare and empty. Then life was a whirl of dissipation and excitement. The days had been spent in bathing and in lounging in the high-backed basket chairs or basking on the sun-baked sands. Excursions, dinners and festivities had followed close upon one another and the evenings had been spent in the theatre in careless idleness. Then suddenly the curtain was rung down for the last time, and the war broke out.

We could not resist the temptation to pay a visit to the theatre kitchen. Here stood the fat, jovial, naval cooks in their long white coats and caps and sleeves tucked up. The caldrons were on the boil and appetising fumes filled the atmosphere. Needless to say I was made to taste the dishes, and a gigantic portion of _goulash_ in a soup plate was put in front of me--stewed meat, potatoes, vegetables and broth. “Excellent! This is even better than the food we get at the hotel,” I thought to myself. I ate my dish with great gusto. No wonder that German soldiers are so strong, fresh and contented-looking when they are fed like this. If I were to be put on field diet for a long while and could choose between officers’ and men’s fare, I would unhesitatingly take the latter. It is wholesome, nourishing, and tasty food, and does not encumber the soldiers’ stomachs with unnecessary ballast. That the state of health in the German Army is as good as it is, is to a great extent due to the excellent and ample hot food.

But it is now five minutes to one and we must not be late for dinner at the officers’ mess, for which I, for my part, had thoroughly spoilt my appetite. We walked up the _Rue du Cerf_. At the corner of this street and the _Digue de Mer_, the road fronting the sea, stands the _Hôtel Littoral_. The former street lies a few metres lower than the _Digue de Mer_, which is perched on the dune skirting the sea. The streets are paved with granite slabs. The last bit of the _Rue du Cerf_ forms a slight rise. Up at the corner of the _Hôtel Littoral_ a group of officers were standing in animated conversation, pointing to the west and busily using their glasses. We went up to them wondering what was up. The British squadron lay in its accustomed place to westward and west-south-westward, perhaps a little closer in than usual--about seven or eight kilometres away.

A destroyer had just detached itself from the rest and was making at full speed for Ostend, parallel with the coast, as close as possible to the shore. Presently another destroyer appeared, following in the wake of the first. What could they want, these ruffians? Strong language was heard--it was a piece of consummate impudence to come steaming right under our noses like this. Evidently they were reconnoitring--but what insolence, they must have known that we had occupied Ostend! Aha! they suspect that there are submarines and destroyers in the inner harbour, and want to see whether they can detect anything from outside!

Well, whatever their intentions are, we may as well go upstairs and get ready for dinner. I stepped on to my balcony, feeling convinced that by this time the destroyers would have turned back or gone out to sea again. But no! They kept on the same tack as before, and at a speed which made the foam break over their bows. My neighbours, Bess, Haak and Kübler, were also out on their balconies with their glasses. “Astounding insolence,” I heard them mutter. There will be something doing presently, I thought to myself, and went in to stow away my diaries, sketches and photographs in a handbag. Once more I cast a glance at the bold destroyers outside. Beneath my balcony I heard an officer shouting out orders in a stentorian voice to the effect that the street was to be cleared and that not a man must show himself on the front, except the sentry at the _Littoral_, but a moment later, he, too, was called in for _Deckung_.

My friends had disappeared; I looked into their rooms, they were empty. Then I took my glasses and hurried downstairs. Bess had warned his colleagues against remaining on the balconies, and he thought that I had gone down already.

In the elegant, carpeted vestibule of the hotel, where sofas, tables and chairs stood in little groups between the huge green plants, officers hurried to and fro, and it was plain that something unusual was pending. “Are they going to shoot?” I asked Bess. “Oh yes, they are going to shoot all right,” he answered with stoical calm. Through the glass doors of the vestibule I could see clearly what was going on at the end of the _Rue du Cerf_. Admiral von Schröder was in command and I caught sight of Captain Tägert and his men of the naval brigade, hurrying to bring up the two 6-cm. naval guns and their ammunition carts which we had seen a moment ago at the theatre--there was no other artillery available in the town for the moment. The street had been cleared of civilians, and there were no military visible save those required for serving and directing the little battery. I was not allowed outside, of course, but I had time nevertheless to admire the astounding swiftness and precision with which the two guns were unlimbered, loaded and the range found: “Load! Ready! Fire!”

The first shot rang out. The report re-echoed down the street and the window-panes in the hotel rattled in their frames. I went into the restaurant, whence I had an uninterrupted view of the sea and the leading destroyer. A moment later came the second shot. The first shell struck the water right in front of the destroyer, but it was impossible to tell whether it did any damage. The second shell also struck quite close to the target.

There were several officers in the restaurant. I was standing with Dr. Algermissen of Colmar, Lieutenant in the First Naval Reserve. The room was very large, with eight windows looking on to the sea and two others on to the _Rue du Cerf_. At the former little tables stood laid, and on the east side of the room stood the large table where we used to take our meals. Along the centre line the restaurant was supported by four solid pillars. Algermissen and I were standing at the second window from the west.

Directly the German shots had been fired, the two destroyers swung round to port and at the same moment opened fire. Their guns seemed to flash out straight at us. _Deckung!_ shouted Algermissen, and we retired immediately behind our pillar, forgetting that it would have been blown away like paper if a shell had struck it. Some of those in the room followed our example, but others contemptuously disdained even this measure of precaution, which perhaps they considered insufficient. The leading destroyer was now about 1400 metres away. Its first shell fell short and dropped into the sea just in front of the _Littoral_. Tall columns of white spray showed where it had struck. Immediately we turned our glasses on to the enemy vessel. There is another flash. Once more we take cover, but only for the body, not for the head, for one simply _cannot_ take one’s eyes off such a spectacle, whatever the cost! But it would be vain to attempt to describe the excitement which we felt between the spurt of flame from the gun and the impact of the shell. We felt, indeed we were conscious that _we_ were the target of the sinister monster speeding towards us through the air. It was not fear, for if anyone had offered to take me to a perfectly safe spot in the centre of the town, I should not have stirred. It was a mixture of breathless excitement, intense interest and a fixed determination not to miss the smallest detail of what was passing. That was why we kept our glasses fixed, now on the boat, now on the point of impact. One projectile ricochetted from the surface of the water, sprang aloft and struck the roof coping, fifty-eight paces away from us, as I subsequently measured. Another described a most peculiar path--how it did it I cannot imagine--but in the end it landed on the stone promenade nearest the sea and buried itself beside the iron railing without bursting. There it lay for a couple of days, and the guard saw to it that nobody went up to interfere with the fearsome object. Twice we saw and heard the shells strike the water, dancing like flat stones over the surface, and finally crashing into the quay wall. First we saw the flash from the British gun, then the impact on striking the water--then came the report. A second or so later a horrible crash struck our ears, announcing that some house frontage had been hit, and followed by the clatter of bricks and stones smashing on to the pavement.

The second destroyer, which I could not see from my point of vantage, was blazing away as cheerfully as the first. As we could not even see _when_ she fired, the protection of our pillar was still more illusory. The two German guns fired five or six shots each. Whether they did any damage, I do not know. As the street sloped upward towards the front, the recoil was very severe, and the guns had to be pulled up afresh for each round. The laying of them was combined with considerable difficulty. The whole affair was over in twelve minutes. The destroyers turned almost completely round and steamed with all speed back towards the west, firing continuously. According to the German officers they fired about thirty rounds. They also used machine guns. But the distance grew, and after a while the firing ceased altogether.

One can hardly be in a more dangerous situation than the one we had been exposed to. We had been right in the middle of the shell fire, and yet got away unscathed. The shells had struck, some in front of us, some to the east of us, and the machine guns seemed to be trained on the lower floor of the house adjoining the _Littoral_ on the left. Several shots had made their way through its windows. We afterwards discussed this remarkable whim of fate.

“How is it that not a single shot hit our hotel?” I asked. “The British ought to have seen that the German fire was directed from our street corner, and the men serving the guns were the only human beings in sight on the whole front.”

“Well, it might seem so, but with the rapid movement of the ships it must be difficult to tell where the fire comes from. Possibly they may have had their attention fixed on the harbour, in the belief that we had torpedo-boats lying there. Several shots went in that direction.”

“I hear,” said another, “that the _Majestic Hotel_ was struck several times, and that one or two officers there were killed. The _Majestic_ is a large white monumental building, and the British no doubt thought that they were making a good haul.”

“It is very significant,” added a third, “that they honoured us with their attention just at one o’clock when they knew that all the officers would be at dinner. Probably they thought that they would get past unimpeded after carrying out their reconnaissance before we were ready.”

What can have been the intention of the British? It may perhaps have been--apart from the general reconnaissance to discover what the Germans had in the harbour--to tempt the German artillery out of its hiding-place. Their persistent fire, although the German reply was so slight, would hardly have any other explanation. They gained nothing by the affair, and did themselves and their Belgian Allies a certain amount of material damage.

When all was quiet again we settled down to our meal, after which Bess, Kübler and I went over to the _Majestic Hotel_. On the way we passed the house where a shell had lodged in the coping. Some men and women were just issuing from its gates with a lusty-looking child in a perambulator. The elders looked frightened and perturbed. “Where are you off to?” we asked.

“Surely you can’t expect us to remain in a house which has been shot at,” said one of the men, and added with a touch of sardonic humour, “these are strong pills for little children--we are going to move away.”

In the 1910 edition of “Baedeker” the _Majestic Hotel_ appears under the name of _Grand Hotel des Bains_. Since then it has changed its name and probably its proprietor. Its handsome white frontage had been badly knocked about by the six shells which we had counted, and which had torn great gaping holes in the walls. On the pavement outside lay huge piles of stone, bricks and masonry, and we noticed the fragments of one of the ornamental plaster angels with wings lifted for flight, but which nevertheless, by the irony of fate, had ended its days in millions of fragments on the stone pavement.

We went into the lobby, where cupboards, tables and chairs lay in picturesque disorder. An hour ago the restaurant had been one of the most elegant in Europe. Its floor was laid with rich red Brussels carpets, the walls were decorated in white and gold and mirrors, with magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Now the whole room was a picture of the most ghastly devastation. Two shells had entered just by the lower part of the long row of windows. Their splinters had torn gaping holes in walls and ceilings. The plaster ornaments had fallen down and now lay shivered into fragments, and the carpets had almost disappeared beneath the thick white dust. The windows had been smashed to atoms. Mirrors had cracked into all sorts of curious starry shapes which threatened to collapse altogether if touched. All the furniture lay about in little bits. The tablecloths had been torn to shreds. Yet in the corners of the room, more particularly the western corner, the tables were still standing, but glasses and crockery had, of course, been smashed. I noticed the bases of claret and champagne glasses still standing, whilst the bowls had been shivered to pieces, leaving an edge like an irregular saw blade.

When the bombardment began some fifty officers had assembled together for dinner in this room, and some of them had already begun to eat. Most of them had been seated in the western end of the room, and had thus miraculously escaped death. But at a window in the eastern corner of the room a surgeon, Dr. Lippe, had sat down with an Adjutant of the Naval Brigade, and they had already begun their meal when the bombardment commenced. A shell had burst its way through the lower half of this very window. Probably the hotel had already been struck by a couple of shells, and as the two gentlemen had perhaps felt that they were rather too exposed where they were, it seems that Dr. Lippe had got up to go away, but he got no further than the other end of the table when he was literally torn to shreds by the shell, which struck him right in the back. What was left of his body lay flung forward on the floor, the head resting on the arms in a pool of blood. All that was left of the uniform was a few ragged tatters. A piece of one of his legs was found under a table at the other end of the room, and all the rest of him, in the form of blood-stains, organs and bowels and their contents, were spattered about the white walls and ceiling and the tablecloths. Dr. Schönfelder, who had hurried to the spot, could do nothing but order the remains of his colleague to be gathered together in a tablecloth and carried to a mortuary. The Adjutant, who was badly wounded in the head, was taken to the nearest hospital. A fine-looking Landsturm soldier, who was in the restaurant together with his son, told me that all the other diners had got out of it alive, but most of them had been hurled to the ground by the air pressure, and some had been cut and bruised by flying splinters. They were dazed for the moment, but soon recovered.

Fate is indeed inscrutable. Why should he, who saw the danger and was on the point of seeking a safer place, be overtaken by death, whilst we, who stopped to observe the spectacle from another room, were spared? I was told afterwards that our post had been far from safe. In a confined space the risk is always far greater than out in the open. Strictly speaking the gunners at the street corners were far safer than we. So it came to pass that the visitors at the _Littoral_ had no reason to complain of the inhospitable treatment they received at the _Majestic_. If the German naval officers had been well received there, some of us might well have shared Dr. Lippe’s fate.

A great change suddenly came over Ostend with the altered situation. Counsels were divided as to what to do. Most people seemed to think that the town would be exposed to renewed firing, but others thought it unlikely that the night would bring a fresh bombardment. Orders were issued that nobody, not even the soldiers, was to be allowed on the front without special permission. All of the frontage looking on to the sea was to be cleared of people, excepting the guards at the street corners. In the evening and at night there must be no light whatever in the windows looking on to the sea. My friends at the _Littoral_ therefore decided to move over to the _Hôtel de la Couronne_ opposite the railway station, where a room was also prepared for me. Our luggage was thereupon transferred to our new abode in two baggage carts.

We ourselves remained, however, at the _Littoral_ until the evening, and some of us sat in the dark to keep Lieut. Haak company, as he had been ordered to take a battery to the zone beyond Middelkerke. He ate his supper, smoked his cigarette, bade us good-bye and started off with his sailors, horses and guns. The rest of us took our supper at the usual time in the dimly lit lobby, whereupon we said good-bye to the amiable proprietor and servants, and brought our memorable visit in the house to an end. From the corner of the _Rue du Cerf_ we cast a glance westward, where the sky was lit up by the fire from the British guns. Then we marched off to _La Couronne_ through the dim and silent streets in a darkness unbroken but for the light from an occasional lamp invisible from the sea.