Читать книгу My Three Years in a German Prison - Beland Henri Severin - Страница 12

Military police inspection at this period became much more stringent. If one were walking along the street, or visiting a neighbor, or making a sick call, he was liable to be kept under the closest surveillance. It was not an uncommon experience in the course of a walk in the garden to suddenly perceive the ferret-like eye of an official watching you from a cluster of foliage nearby. As a matter of fact, we felt our every movement was spied upon. The least infraction of the regulations imposed by the occupying authority–and God knows the number of these regulations; they were posted everywhere–I say the least infraction was punished by a money fine or with a jail sentence.

It was a few days after the sinking of the Lusitania. All British hearts felt a new bitterness. At the same time a greater feeling of arrogance was reflected from the German mind. The Boches had unbridled their terrorism on the seas, and they now would attempt to make their conduct more appalling in occupied territory.

All of this stimulated our desire to leave Belgium to return to Canada.

On May 15, at 8 o’clock in the morning, I was apprised by a messenger that my presence was wanted at the Town Hall. It was not without a feeling of some apprehension that I made my way towards that building. In the office of the Mayor where I was introduced, I saw the Mayor and a non-commissioned officer. The Mayor, who was one of my friends, said, with a significant glance towards me: “This gentleman wishes to speak to you.”

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“You must go to Antwerp,” replied the non-commissioned officer.

“Very well,” I said, “I will go immediately on my bicycle.”

“No,” said the non-commissioned officer, “you had better leave your bicycle here at the Town Hall. I wish you to accompany me.”

A few minutes later we arrived at the station which was transformed, like all the other stations in the occupied country, into a military post. The non-commissioned officer directed me to a waiting room where there were a group of several soldiers chatting and smoking.

One of these soldiers at a word of command came forward, put on his pointed helmet, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and simply said: “Commen sie mit.” I was right in interpreting his remark to mean “Come with me.” For the first time in my life I had the honor (?) of parading along the street in the company of a disciple of Bismarck!

The people of Capellen, who knew me very well by this time, hurried to the doors to see me pass. A few minutes afterwards we arrived in Antwerp. I was conducted to the Bourse, a large building, which had been struck and damaged by a bomb during the air raid of August 25.