Henri Beland - My Three Years in a German Prison

At 10 o’clock an individual burst into the room in which we were assembled and made the simple announcement: “Gentlemen, a German officer is here.”

Before the fall of Antwerp I had a close inspection of a number of German prisoners of war as they marched in file and under Belgian escort along the streets of the city, but I had never yet seen either near, or at a distance, a real Prussian officer, and I must confess that my curiosity was greatly aroused by the announcement of the imminent arrival. Ere we had time to advance to meet him, there he stood in the doorway, dressed in the uniform of a captain of German artillery and wearing the pointed helmet. He gave us the military salute, turned to Mr. Spaet and, speaking in German, said that in civilian life he was a lawyer and practised his profession at Dortmund. He looked at each and every one of us several times as though searching our souls to discover what were our inmost feelings and sentiments. He was manifestly surprised by the fact that Mr. Spaet, a Belgian, could speak such perfect German, and inquired of him how he had acquired his knowledge of his own language. Mr. Spaet replied frankly and honestly and then asked:

“What must we do?”

“Nothing,” replied the German officer. “However, you will not have to deal with me; I am only a scout. It is with Major X – , who will be here shortly, that you will have to make arrangements.”

With these words he took his leave, and a few minutes afterwards an automobile, containing the real negotiator, a Prussian major, who was accompanied by a very elegant officer, stopped in front of the Town Hall. This major typified the Prussian officer my imagination had pictured. Resplendent in uniform and glittering helmet, with blonde moustache trained a la Kaiser, he stood erect as a letter I, and stiff as an iron rod.

At the time there was, as in preceding days, a large crowd in the public square fronting the Town Hall. It was the direct route from Antwerp to Holland, and there were now accumulated here refugees from the four corners of the fortified position. Seemingly annoyed by such a gathering, the Prussian major demanded an explanation, which Mr. Spaet gave without hesitation.

“Whither are these people going?” he inquired.

“To Holland,” Mr. Spaet told him.

“Why?”

“Because they seek refuge from German fire,” answered Mr. Spaet.

“But since Antwerp has fallen, there is no further danger,” stated the major. “Tell these people to return to their homes. They will not be molested.”

Naturally we feared many requisitions would be made upon us.

The major informed us that only horses would be taken. “We must have horses,” he added.

But it was explained the only horses in Capellen belonged to the farmers, and these animals were absolutely needed if the crops were to be garnered.

“Well,” said the major finally, after further explanations, “only one infantry company will be sent to Capellen, and you must see that the officers are well treated. As to the soldiers, well, you may billet them anywhere you like–in the schoolhouse, for example.”

The German officer demanded to know in what condition were the forts around Capellen. We told him our present impression was that they had all been destroyed by the garrisons immediately before their evacuation. He took two of our party with him in his automobile and made a tour of the forts of Capellen, Erbrand, and Stabrock. He brought us back to the Town Hall and then departed. I never saw him again.

In the afternoon of Saturday, October 10, a company of infantrymen arrived in front of the Town Hall. At the word of command, two soldiers left the ranks and entered the building. A few minutes afterwards the crowd witnessed the humiliating and supremely painful ceremony of the lowering of the Belgian flag, which had flown from that flag-staff for nearly one hundred years, and in its place was hoisted the German standard. Capellen then was definitely subjected to enemy occupation. As Capellen is situated at the extreme north of the fortified position of Antwerp, consequently the German flag floated as the breeze blew from the frontier of France to the frontier of Holland.

And mourning entered every home.

“Do please hurry, and return to the house, my dear sir and madame, for the Germans are there.”

It was a young lady who thus addressed us on the sidewalk midway between the church and the chateau. My wife and I were returning from church when we were thus apprised that the Hun was more than at the gate–that in fact he was beyond it, and actually in the house awaiting our return. We hastened our footsteps homeward. The first thing we observed was an automobile standing opposite the main entrance.

In the house we found ourselves in the presence of a German officer of medium build. He bowed very low to my wife and myself, and then explained that the automobile standing at the door in charge of three soldiers belonged to him. He spoke the French language and demanded lodgings.

Such an unexpected request was perplexing, to say the least. We could hardly refuse it, although, candidly, we did not relish the proposition in the least. I explained that the house was full of refugees, who were our relatives; that they had been with us for over a week, and that under the circumstances it would be difficult, if not quite impossible, to find fitting accommodation for him. He insisted, however, saying the three soldiers who accompanied him–a chauffeur, an orderly and a valet–could sleep in the garage, and he alone would require a room in our house. I thought that in stating my nationality he might change his mind; so I said to him: “I am very anxious to return with my wife to Canada, for I am a Canadian, consequently a British subject.”

“I know that,” he replied. “I know that.”

I have to confess that I was astonished to learn that he knew my nationality. What a marvelous service of espionage these Germans had!

“Yes,” he added. “I can say definitely that you must not leave Belgium. There is nothing to prevent you remaining here, even if you are a British subject. I have also learned that you are a physician, and that as such you served in hospital at Antwerp. You need have no fear, then, in remaining here; you are protected under laws of military authority.”

I exchanged a glance with my wife and together we reached the same conclusion. We would receive this officer in the house, find accommodation for his servants, and, for ourselves, we would remain in Capellen. As a matter of fact, we were very happy to be able to reach this decision, as Capellen, at that time, had no other medical doctor. Several of the local physicians had joined the army, and others had gone to Holland. I might, therefore, be able to render some service by remaining. My wife was at the head of a charity organization long established at Capellen, and which, in consequence of the war, had become of exceptional utility and importance. This was how we came to remain, and the children with us.

The German officer came from Brunswick. Goering was his name. For two years he had been attached to the German Embassy in Spain, and later he was for eight years at the German legation in Brazil. He had, it must be acknowledged, acquired a great deal of polish through his international experience. He spoke English and French fairly well. He had none of the haughtiness and self-conceited characteristics of the ordinary Prussian officers. But he entertained no doubt about the ultimate success of the German arms, above all at that moment when the world-famed fortress of Antwerp had just fallen into their hands. He professed to believe that German troops would land in England within a few weeks, and this opinion was shared by his three military servants. The Germans were already in Ostend, and from that place an expeditionary force was to be directed against England. That project was on every one’s lips.