Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-05-14

" HE story or the son of the
burgomaster and the shoot
- ing of the general did not
serve long as the reason for de-
stroying Louvain. The alleged
cause took on larger proportions
as the effects grew; the Ger
mans claimed that the civilians of
Louvain fired on the soldiers from
windows along the rue de la Sta
ton, the most consequential resi-
dence street of the old university,
a long, quiet avenue, lined with the
handsome residences of the local
quality; university professors, law
yers, doctors, and the haute bour-
geoisie. But even this was not
enough; it was not sufficiently Ko-
lossal; the thing must be deeper,
more profound. more in accord with
the current legend of the franc
tireur, and so it grew and expanded
until in the final and official YER
sion it blossomed forth as a Volks-
kreig. In the very houses where
German soldiers we're CHARTERED, it
was said Belgian soldiers, who had
changed their uniform for civilian
attire, had been concealed, armed to
the teeth; provided even with nit
railleuses and, at a preconcerted
signal, in secret communication
with the Belgian government at
Antwerp, at the moment when Bel
gian troops were making a sortie
from the Antwerp forts, had sprung
suddenly forth, firing from win
dows and even from loop holes in
the houses, placed there, it is init
mated, with a view to this very ext
gency when the houses were built,
and had treacherously fired on in
nocent German soldiers going to the
support of their sorely tried COM
rades at the front. Such is the
German version, given in the White
Book of 10th May, 1915.
The signal for this uprising is
said to have been skyrockets falling
like stars in the evening sky. 1t is
not at all unlikely that Germans
did see stars that evening. Never
in history were soldiers more bad
ly scared than these were when
those ridiculous riderless horses
came galloping into town through
the Porte de Malines, and disturb
ed the officers at their food and
wine. For forty years they had
been reading about those French
france-tireurs with the ferocious
names, those French Tartarins,
those dark villains that had skulk-
ed through all the German fiction
for two score years.
There are many accounts of it,
but the account that l like best is
the one written by Carl Moencke-
berg and published in the Dussel-
dorfer General Anzeiger for the 10
September, 1914, under the title,
"Our Baptism of Fire at Louvain."
like this account because it falls
in with my notion of the essential
romanticism of German fiction.
II had just eaten a bite at the
Hotel Metropole," says Moencke-
detachments of
infantry that did not belong to our
regiment were passing in the street.
1t was said that they were going to
sound the alarm and that perhaps
at night we would have to take part
in a combat. l ran as far as the
Place. There were our horses sad
died, that had just come from the
station, and there were installed
camp of our field wagons. We
mounted and, on horseback, rode
in the streets where the soldiers
were swarming. The excitement was
great and swelled even more when
darkness fell. No one knew what
was going on and the officers were
forced to hold back their men by
crying at the top of their voices in
order to dominate the noise of the
shuffling of the soldiers and the
paving of the horses. After a GER
tain time a counter order arrives.
We return to the rear and again oc-
cupy the Place, whose space was
filled to the last little corner with
the wagons hitched up. Now they
must once more forage in order
that before night men and horses
may take their quarters. My neigh
Dor, impatient, was citing to me the
following phrase: "The. soldier
passes the greatest part of his life
in waiting in vain" When the last
word was hardly out of his mouth
formidable defamation had just
come from the corner of the Place.
We turned about with the rapidity
of a flash of lightning. I saw at
the height of man a brilliant
light. Ny first thought is that the
Belgian artillery has just arrived
and is shooting at the troops park
ed in the Place. At the same mo-
ment all the saddle horses rush to
the side opposite from that whence
came the defamation, jostle one an
other and enter the street that is
just in front. The harnessed horses
also, seized by panic, shy and drag
the wagons in every direction.
Many break their straps and start
to gallop across all that crowd.
impossible to control them. The
panic of the horses threatens to ex-
tend itself to the men. No one knows
what is going on. All, without I'M
derstandtng anything, look fixedly in
the direction of the first explosion,
awaiting the second. Then from the
four sides of the place a rain of bull
lets, coming from the windows of
the principal houses, falls cracking
on us. All precaution is useless.
From whatever side one turns the
bullets whistle and crackle at our
ears in a bewildering way. Whoever
has an arm, and everyone has either
an infantry gun, or a musket, or
revolver, shoots mechanically toward
the first point where he thinks there