Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-07-16
:: The Truth About Belgium ::
= - By Brand Whitlock = -

jeff Deyn. would sound their mel
low peals across the fields no more.
Near by, the gray old monastic res
idence Of Cardinal Mercier stood
with it's roof beaten in.
waehIem, a Grass Grown Fort
Beyond. toward Antwerp, stood
the fort of Waerlem, one of the
outer defenses, the key, l believe,
TO the position. About, on every
side, stretched the fields, gaunt and
bare, sodden from their late inun-
dalton, every tree cut down, great
masses OF barbed wire entangle-
ments and chevauX de frise every
where. Here and there was a new
grave, with a wooden cross lettered
in Flemish or French; and just out
side the fort, near the bridge across
the moat, there was the grave of
some German soldier, his rifle and
his helmet laid upon it. and a few
faded flowers. Evening was steal
ing over the fields, from which the
waters had not all receded; there
were pools here and there, cleaning
in the slanting rays of the hazy sun.
1t was very still; there seemed not
to be a living thing left in the
world.
The great mound of the grass
grown fort heaved itself above the
level, wet plain, the curve of it's
outline broken by the great hole
that had been torn, like the crater
in its very summit by the shell
of the as" that, in the deadly pre-
cision of the final perfectly aimed
shot had blasted its steel cupola
to bits. And there on the Jagged
summit the black, white and red
flag of modern Germany was flying
and beside its staff sentinel stood,
solitary, immobile, his spiked he'll
met and his long bayonet outlined
in sharp silhouette against the
sky of pale garance where the sun
was setting.
AS we drove into Malines, there
by the ancient gate, the Porte de
Bruxelles, an old peasant was sit
ting in the sun before the door of
his ruined home; the light of day
shone through the broken windows
and the roof was gone. When he
saw the little American flag on the
motor he raised his hand in solemn
salute. When we returned late in
the afternoon there was the old
peasant still sitting before the ruins
of his home; he seemed not to have
moved, but sat there in dumb de-
spair, and he raised his hand again
to his cap, in that reverent salute,
What did it mean to him, that
bright bit of bunting with it's flut-
tering red and white stripes and
the white stars on the blue? What
vague impressionistic dream of lib
erty and justice did it evoke before
those old eyes that had gazed on
nameless horrors and were beyond
tears? / uncovered to him; l trust
that he understood.
And then somewhere along the
road beyond Vilvorde there was the
German officer, his motor beside
the road, en- panne-a punctured
tire. He was accompanied by his
wife, an officer and a chauffeur. He
spoke French with difficulty, and 1
thought he was asking me to take
his wife in to Brussels. 1 offered,
of course, to do this, but, ooh, no."
he said lightly, she can wait
there" And he climbed into the
'car, taking the vacant seat, and
rode into Brussels.
"Have you seen our glorious can
non%' he was asking me politely.
(Gloriosen cannonen).
There along the roadside were
the drab figures of the refugees,
still bowed under their packs,
still bending to the ropes with
which they drew their carts, plod-
ding on without complaint, without
a word. The rain was falling dreari-
" before the long, binding rays OF
the headlights; they turned aside.
Now and then one of them, looking
dumbly up and seeing the flag,
touched his cap in salute. Then
their. figures became vague, inn
pressionistic blurs.
We Face Hunger
The ironic spirits have their fun
with mortals; their sardonic laugh
ter rings forever down the awful
void; what were thought to be vic
tories proved to be defeats and de-
feats to have been triumphs. Ma
jor Langhorne in Brussels a day or
so after the city had been abandon
ed said that Antwerp, If not a vic
tory for the Belgians, was hardly a
victory for the Germans, since in
their haste to parade the bouevards
OF Brussels, to have the eclat of an
entry in the grand style in the cap
ital of the little nation they had
conquered, and to stagger mankind
with their force and power, they
had left the country open westward
to the sea, ana allowed the Belgian
army to escape to the immortal
glory of the User.
But whatever minor consolation
there may have been for the people
of Brussels in the thought that the
Germans had made a mistake of
which history would calmly speak,
there was an immediate and an in
tense preoccupation. destined thence
forth never to quit the mind for
years. It was the thought of famine.
The wheat had not come from Ant
werp yet. It was even reported that
the Belgians in leaving the citadel
had destroyed the foodstuffs there,
whereupon a German general re.
marked:
Continued Next Issuel
published by special arrange=
ment with the Mcclure Newspaper
Syndicate. Copyright, 1918, by
Brand Whitlock, under the title
Memories Of Belgium Under the
German Occupation" All rights re-
served. Copyrighted in Great Bri-
tain. Canada and Australia. All
rights reserved for France, Bel
GUM, Holland, Italy, Spain. Russia,
and the Scandinavian countries