Antwerp to Gallipoli - A Year of the War on Many Fronts--and Behind Them | Page 4

Arthur Ruhl
Courtrai.
It was rumored that there had been a battle at Courtrai--it was, at any
rate, close to the border and the German right wing and in the general
line of their advance.
We rattled along the hard highroad, paved with Belgian blocks, with a
well-pounded dirt path at the side for bicycles, between almost
uninterrupted rows of low houses and tiny fields in which men and
women both were working. Other carts like ours passed by, occasional
heavy wagons drawn by one of the handsome Belgian draft-horses, and
now and then a small loaded cart, owner perched on top, zipping along
behind a jolly Belgian work dog--pulling as if his soul depended on it
and apparently having the time of his life. Every one was busy, not a
foot of ground wasted; a more incongruous place into which to force
the waste and lawlessness of war it would be hard to imagine.
Past an old chateau, with its lake and pheasant-preserve; along the
River Lys, with its miles of flax, soaked in this peculiarly potent water,
now drying in countless little cones, like the tents of some vast
Lilliputian army, and so at last into Courtrai.
It was like hundreds of other quaint old towns along the French and
Flemish border, not yet raked by war, but motionless, with workmen
idle, young men gone to the front, and nothing for people to do but
exchange rumors and wait for the clash to come. I strolled round the
old square and through some of the winding streets. One window was
filled with tricolor sashes carrying the phrase: "Long live our dear
Belgium! May God preserve her!"
On blank walls was this proclamation in parallel columns of French
and Flemish:
Ville De Courtrai Avis Important a la Population Courtraisienne Stad
Kortrijk Belangrijk Bericht aan de Kortrijksche Bevolking
I am about to make an appeal to your reason and your sentiments of
humanity.
If, in the course of the unjust war which we are now enduring, it
happens that French or Belgian troops bring German prisoners to our
city, I beseech you to maintain your calm and dignity. These prisoners,
wounded or not, I shall take under my protection, became I say that
they are not really to blame for acts which they have been ordered to do
under threat of cruel punishment.

Yes, I say I shall take them under my protection because my heart
bleeds to think that they, too, have left behind those dear to them--an
aged father, an old mother, a wife, children, sisters, or sweethearts
whom separation has plunged into deepest anguish. Do not forget when
you see these prisoners passing by, I beg of you, and permit yourself to
shout at and insult them. Keep, on the contrary, the respectful silence
appropriate to thinking men. Fellow citizens, if, in these grave and
painful circumstances, you will listen to my advice, if you will recall
that it is now thirty years that I have been your burgomaster and during
all that time of hard work I have never asked a favor of you, I feel sure
that you will obey my request and, on your side, you may be sure that
my gratitude will not be wanting.
A. REYNAEKT, Burgomaster.
Although war had not touched Courtrai as yet, the rumor of it, more
terrifying often than the thing itself, had swept through all Flanders.
Along the level highways leading into Courtrai trooped whole families
carrying babies and what few household things they could fling
together in blankets. Covered wagons overflowed with men, women,
and children. The speed with which rumor spread was incredible. In
one village a group of half-drunken men, who insisted on jeering the
Germans were put at the head of a column and compelled to march
several miles before they were released. The word at once ran the
length of dozens of highroads that the Germans "were taking with them
every one between fifteen and fifty." I heard the same warning repeated
on several of the roads about Courtrai by men and women, panting,
red-faced, stumbling blindly on from they knew not what. Later, I met
the same people, straggling back to their villages, good-naturedly
accepting the jibes of those who had stayed behind.
A linen manufacturer who lived in the village of Deerlyck, not far from
Courtrai, where German scouts had been reported, kindly asked me to
come out and spend the night. For several miles we drove through the
densely populated countryside, past rows of houses whose occupants
all seemed to know him.
Women ran out to stop him and rattled away in Flemish; there were
excited knots of people every few steps, and the heads kept turning this
way and that, as if we were all likely to be shot any minute.
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