Golden Lads | Page 6

had numerous
friends, in some cases they had married Belgian girls and their boys
were members of the special corps of our 'National Guard.' ... Yet at the
same time, they were prying into everything, spying everywhere.
"When the Germans entered into Belgium, they were guided wherever
they went by some one of their officers or men who knew all about
each place. Directors of factories were startled to recognize some of
their work people transformed into Uhlans. A man who had been a
professor at the University of Brussels had the impudence to call upon
his former 'friends' in the uniform of a German officer.
"When the war is over, when Belgium is free again, it will not be many
years before the Germans come back, at least their peaceful and

'friendly' vanguard. How will they be received this time? It is certain
that it will be extremely difficult for them to make friends again. As to
myself, when I meet them again in my country--I shall ask myself: 'Is
he a friend, or is he a spy?' And the business men will think: 'Are they
coming as faithful partners, or simply to steal and rob?' That will be
their well deserved reward."
One mile from where we were billeted on the Belgian coast stood a
villa owned by a German. It lay between St. Idesbald and Coxyde
Bains, on a sand dune, commanding the Channel. After the war broke
out the Belgians examined it and found it was a fortification. Its walls
were of six-foot thickness, of heavy blocks of stone and concrete. Its
massive flooring was cleverly disguised by a layer of fancy tiling. Its
interior was fitted with little compartments for hydraulic apparatus for
raising weights, and there was a tangle of wires and pipes. Dynamite
cleared away the upper stories. Workmen hacked away the lower story,
piece by piece, during several weeks of our stay. Two members of our
corps inspected the interior. It lay just off the excellent road that runs
from St. Idesbald to Coxyde Bains, up which ammunition could be fed
to it for its coast defense work. The Germans expected an easy march
down the coast, with these safety stations ready for them at points of
need.[A]
A Belgian soldier rode into a Belgian village one evening at twilight
during the early days of the war. An old peasant woman, deceived
because of the darkness, and thinking him to be a German Uhlan,
rushed up to him and said, "Look out--the Belgians are here." It was the
work of these spies to give information to the marauding Uhlans as to
whether any hostile garrison was stationed in the town. If no troops
were there to resist, a band of a dozen Uhlans could easily take an
entire village. But if the village had a protecting garrison the Germans
must be forewarned.
Three days after arriving in Belgium, in the early fall of 1914, a friend
and I met a German outpost, one of the Hussars. We fell into
conversation with him and became quite friendly. He had no cigarettes
and we shared ours with him. He could speak good English, and he let

us walk beside him as he rode slowly along on his way to the main
body of his troops. The Germans had won the day and there seemed to
be nothing at stake, or perhaps he did not expect our little group would
be long-lived, nor should we have been if the German plans had gone
through. It was their custom to use civilian prisoners as a protective
screen for their advancing troops. Whatever his motive, after we had
walked along beside his horse for a little distance, he pointed out to us
the house of the spy whom the Germans had in that village of Melle.
This man was a "half-breed" Englishman, who came out of his house
and walked over to the Hussar and said:
"You want to keep up your English, for you'll soon be in London."
In a loud voice, for the benefit of his Belgian neighbors, he shouted
out:
"Look out! Those fellows shoot! The Germans are devils!"
He brought out wine for the troops. We followed him into his house,
where he, supposing us to be friends of the Germans, asked us to
partake of his hospitality. That man was a resident of the village, a
friend of the people, but "fixed" for just this job of supplying
information to the invaders when the time came.
During my five weeks in Ghent I used to eat frequently at the Café
Gambrinus, where the proprietor assured us that he was a Swiss and in
deep sympathy with Belgians and Allies. He had a large custom. When
the Germans captured Ghent he altered into a simon