Chapter XIV: Still in Antwerp

The 16th of October--an anniversary! Nine years ago I left Stockholm for Tibet. How quiet and peaceful the world seemed then, how different from the thunders now re-echoing from pole to pole. The Russo-Japanese war had just ended. Now the Russians and Japanese are friends. Then Count Benckendorff had frowned on Lord Curzon’s Tibetan policy. But when the storm was preparing against Germany, and when it broke loose, Russia and England suddenly became friends--like Pilate and Herod in their day!

The 16th of October broke with a leaden sky, and the German flag hung limp and motionless from the spire of the cathedral, 123 metres above the ground--where it had now been fluttering for a whole week. At the entrance facing the _Place Verte_ stood a middle-aged janitor, with an unspeakably sour mien. He scarcely deigned to glance at me when, in my most courteous accents, I asked him whether the cathedral was open. “The cathedral _is_ open,” he replied, “but only to German soldiers.” “All right, my boy,” I thought, and drew forth my _open sesame_, General von Moltke’s pass. The janitor read the paper and his face grew longer at every line. When he had finished he removed his cap and said: “Is that really true? If so I may tell you, Doctor, that I am a Swede, a native of Visby, resident in Antwerp for thirty years, and my name is Dahlgren.”

Thereupon, the cathedral was open even to me, and honest Dahlgren took me round and explained everything. “Baedeker” does not know one-tenth of what he knew. But I will pass all this over, for this book deals only with the war. All that I will mention is that only one shell, or more likely perhaps a fragment of a shell, had struck the wall near the lower part of the great window above the entrance in _Place Verte_. The damage done is insignificant, and can be repaired in a day. If the shell had been maliciously inclined, and if Rubens’s famous pictures, “The Crucifixion” and the “Descent from the Cross,” had been in their usual places in the transept facing towards _Place Verte_, where the shell struck, they would have been in a perilous position. But they were removed before the bombardment and stored in a place of safety, like all other valuable pictures and art treasures in Antwerp. The only trace which the shell has left in the interior of the church is a scratch in one of the pillars.

From the chancel one has a splendid view over the seven aisles and the majestic vaulted roof which was lost from view in the deep gloom above. It is a forest of mighty pillars presenting an ever-varying perspective--the nearest columns faintly illuminated from the windows, the more distant ones gradually merging into the sombre tint of the waning twilight. It is dark enough at the best of times in St. Joseph’s Chapel and St. Anthony’s Chapel, where windows four hundred years old represent the Father, Virgin, and Holy Child, side by side with St. George and the Dragon. “_In hoc signo vinces_” is inscribed on a reliquary, in which a splinter of the Holy Cross is kept.

In the centre of the northern side-aisle, on a portable framework, stands an image of the Holy Virgin, richly arrayed in a long robe, with a golden crown on her head. Each year on the Sunday following the 15th of August she is carried in procession round the town. But this year, when her aid was so badly needed, she was not carried through the streets of Antwerp. This year they contented themselves with lighting tall votive candles before the Queen of Heaven. Yet she seemingly remained deaf to all prayers! But a stained-glass picture in the third window from the left on the northern side shows a portrait of Emperor Charles V., who severed his Netherlands from their connection with the Germanic Holy Roman Empire, leaving the keys of Antwerp in the charge of this very image of the Virgin. The keys of Antwerp! It was “Black Maria”--and not her white namesake--who had the handling of them!

The pulpit was carved by van der Voort in solid oak. It is exactly 200 years old, but perhaps the oaks were 500 years old already when their wood was dedicated to the preaching of the Word of God. One likes to pause before this handsome work of art. The pulpit steps, with their carved crowns of trees and birds, leave us unmoved, but the four female figures which support the pulpit itself are noteworthy. They represent the four continents--Australia being then almost unknown. Three of the figures are light enough, but the one with the thick lips and the flat nose--Dark Africa, the negro continent--is wrapped in deep shadows. Four continents uphold the platform from which the gospel of God’s eternal love to mankind is preached throughout the earth--a pretty conception of van der Voort! “Go ye therefore and teach all nations.” The artist, no doubt, believed that the world would make progress during the centuries to come after his days. But now there are five continents--supporting the gospel of war and hatred. The two Western powers of the _entente_ bear the responsibility for having caused the Dance of Death to involve the whole globe, for they are bringing into the fight masses of men raked together from all parts of the world: Canadians come in their ships from America, Turcos and Senegalese negroes from Africa, and poor Hindus and Ghurkas, bronzed by the sun of India, lie freezing in the trenches--these are the representatives of Asia--and lastly, Australia and New Zealand are sending their contingents, over land and sea, from the Antipodes. And what is the purpose of which the attainment is thought worth such a world-wide levy of warriors? Why, Germanic culture is to be uprooted from the earth. And it is the bearers of this culture, the people of Luther, Goethe, Beethoven, Helmholtz and Röntgen, that are called barbarians and Huns--a danger to the future and civilisation of the white race! It is therefore fit that Ghurkas and Senegalese should come and save us from relapse into the dark ages. The artist who hereafter may be bold enough to immortalise the “levy of all races” of 1914, should not forget that he will find a promising idea for his leading motive in van der Voort’s woman--with the thick lips and the flat nose.

On _Place Verte_ outside stands a bronze statue of Rubens, bareheaded, with a cloak over his shoulders. Its background is formed by the cathedral which he himself has adorned with some of his choicest masterpieces. There he stands, with extended hands, freely offering to the world the gifts his genius has created! The night before the town fell he stood there illumined by the glare of burning buildings--the _Hôtel d’Europe_ and _Taverne Royale_. The picturesque groups of warriors which were seen there five days ago, have disappeared for ever from the _Grand’ Place_. Now, only a long queue of civilians stands outside the Townhall, desiring to obtain, from the German military authorities, passports and permits for some purpose or other.

As I sauntered through the old town, I looked at the people returning from their flight--in most cases merely a trip to the Dutch frontier--and who were now opening their doors and rearranging their shop windows. In a side street a group of marines had assembled round a half-starved cat whom they were treating to milk and meat; “the cat will be as fat as a porpoise in a week,” they assured me. Then my ears caught the sound of cheerful strains of music floating through the misty streets, and I followed the direction of the alluring sound. It turned out to be the band of one of the marine battalions playing in front of the Townhall--surrounded by a large crowd. At four o’clock every afternoon a band played here, at the Central Railway Station and outside _Hotel Weber_. Order was maintained by Belgian police constables. I addressed one of them and he told me various things of interest.

He knew for certain, he said, that five British marines were taken prisoners yesterday in the town. Then he suddenly passed on to other topics. In the night of August 25th, a Zeppelin had flown over Antwerp, and dropped some bombs, one of which had hit three policemen; two were killed, one was still alive and likely to recover. The police force of Antwerp numbered 800 before the war. Of these, 260 had been called out for active service, 140 had fled when the bombardment commenced, the others had remained and were still doing duty. On account of their small number, even the higher police officers had to do street duty. He computed the strength of the Anglo-Belgian army which had been in Antwerp at 120,000 men, and he expressed himself in very drastic terms as to its mode of defending the town. He did not know where the army had gone to; at any rate it disappeared just when it was most needed. According to his computation, one-tenth, or at most one-eighth, of the population had remained during the bombardment. They had taken refuge in cellars, and stopped up the apertures with sandbags. Of course, men of his service were obliged to stay out of doors. Thus he had seen a cyclist struck by a shell and literally vanish on the spot. On returning home he found that his wife, like all others, had fled and taken their child with her. She had not yet returned, nor had he had any news of her. Further, he had seen the ferries in Antwerp cast loose and allowed to drift down-stream towards Flushing, to prevent their falling into the hands of the Germans. He believed that, in a month’s time, most of the inhabitants of the town would be back. The young men only hesitated to return for fear of being compelled by the Germans to serve in their army against Russia. And according to rumours which had been spread, the Russians were standing near Berlin with immense armies.

Clearly, the defenders of Antwerp had feared that an attack would also be made from the west, from the region of Termonde, for one day General Bailer and his officers observed entrenchments, several kilometres in length, thrown up at the cost of at least a couple of weeks’ hard toil, and with much skill. The material was earth and timber, which had been dragged there by the civilian population from the surrounding districts. But even this labour was in vain, and they did not even make an attempt to defend these entrenchments.

On October 17th we commenced with a visit to the Zoological Garden, one of the foremost of its kind in the world. Dr. Hütten, in his capacity as a German officer, was admitted free; I paid the usual admission. The Indian elephants, hippopotami, rhinoceroses and giraffes were just as unconcerned as the chimpanzees and the other simians, about the radical change which had recently taken place in their immediate surroundings. One of the elephants was gravely shaking his head, but otherwise the bombardment did not seem to have made the least impression on the animals; no doubt they mistook the roar of the guns for an approaching thunderstorm.

But the most remarkable circumstance was that all beasts of prey had vanished. This is the only way in which the Zoological Garden has been affected by the war. The splendid large summer cages were empty, and so were the indoor winter quarters of the animals. An old keeper, who, grave and bent, was raking the paths in the park, explained the cause--shaking his head all the while just like the Indian elephant.

“All beasts of prey were shot,” he said. “Four splendid lions, five fine tigers, all the leopards and panthers, all land bears and polar bears were killed. They were driven out into the summer cages and shot--the muzzles of the rifles were thrust through the bars.” He sighed, and no doubt he thought that this was the most grievous loss the war had caused, for both he and the other keepers of the wild beasts had become attached to their protégés.

“But why, in the name of common-sense, were the poor beasts shot? Surely they were not suspected of espionage?” asked Lieut. Hütten.

“Indeed not,” the keeper replied, “it was simply done by order of a general. They feared lest the cages might be struck by shells, when the beasts might have escaped and created a panic in the streets. That’s why they were shot. But now the bombardment is over, and the cages stand empty. Not even a splinter has fallen in the Zoological Garden.”

It would be interesting to know what kind of shell it could be that would break a lion’s cage without killing the lion!

Lastly I took a snapshot of the combined Asiatic and African landscape, in which my old friends, the Bactrian camels and the Tibetan yaks, were associated with dromedaries from Egypt. One might have imagined oneself far away from the turmoil of the war of nations when standing on the borders of their peaceful retreat!

But before reverting to the war, I will interpolate here a few details gleaned in Antwerp as to what occurred in the town just before and during the bombardment. Most of these I obtained from a gentleman who on my return from the Zoological Garden was awaiting me at the entrance to the _Hôtel Terminus_, and introduced himself as Harald Petri, Swedish Consul in Antwerp. He was an uncommonly amiable, courteous and hospitable man, and as he had stayed in the town during those critical days, he could give me a great deal of perfectly reliable information.

On Wednesday, the 7th of October, the Commanding General had published through the press a proclamation warning the inhabitants that the town might be bombarded at any moment. In consequence of this warning one-half of the population took flight. The warning had come none too soon, for the very same night at 11 p.m. the shells began to burst. During the night and on Thursday morning further crowds fled in a continuous stream. They went on foot, as no cars and no horses were to be had. They took with them their valuables and a good many domestic animals--I dare say also provisions. There were weeping women, screaming children and excited men. Many of them, perhaps, had seen shells falling near them. The number of these fugitives might be computed at over 150,000. They made for the Dutch frontier village of Putten, and thence for Bergen-op-Zoom, but many got as far as Esschem and Rosendaal by other roads.

By 10 a.m. on Thursday the town was almost deserted, 10,000 having perhaps remained out of nearly 400,000 inhabitants. Nearly all of these sought refuge in the cellars under the houses which, with very few exceptions, stood empty. Among those remaining were nearly all the Swedes, Norwegians and Danes residing in Antwerp; in fact, many of the Scandinavians who had already taken out their passports, nevertheless remained behind.

The bombardment continued all Thursday, and the town was set on fire by shells in several places. It was a terrific din, what with the roar of the guns and the crash of falling walls. The bombardment increased in intensity during Thursday night, and the fire spread. But at 11 a.m. on Friday, the 9th of October--the day before my visit--all became quiet.

Consul Petri had disdained to seek shelter. In common with other officials, he had been invited to take refuge in the Townhall, but he preferred to stay at home. From time to time he went out into the streets to see the effect of the bombardment. As soon as it had ceased, he went to the Townhall, and then for a long stroll. The streets were deserted and silent; there was scarcely a soul to be seen. But suddenly, he saw a host of people. This was the German vanguard marching in from Berchem, to be followed later in the day by the main body of the besieging army. The public buildings were taken possession of, the artillery drove up to the quay, and the St. Anne’s quarter of the town was bombarded for two hours. Then all was quiet.

Another informant in Antwerp told me that certain prominent persons would have left the town on October 3rd, if the Belgian Government had not ordered them to remain. This was done at the request of the British Government, who had promised to send troops to relieve the town. On the same day, at 2 p.m., Mr. W. Churchill arrived in a motor-car and had a consultation with the civic and military authorities of the city, in the course of which he promised to send 30,000 men to relieve the town, a force which, in conjunction with the Belgian army, should be sufficient for the defence of the city. As a matter of fact, only 15,000 men arrived, of whom 2500 were bluejackets. They had heavy artillery with them and are said to have fought bravely. On October 6th, late at night, Churchill left the town and drove off in a motor-car to the west, no doubt to Ostend.

As the inhabitants during the nights heard, and in day-time saw, troops marching through the streets, they could not but believe that a vigorous resistance would be offered. They were therefore greatly surprised when the town surrendered without a fight and the defenders, at 6 a.m. on October 9th, withdrew over the pontoon bridge, built six weeks before, across the Scheldt, and then blew the bridge up. The British are said to have been the last to cross it.

On October 17th, eight days after the fall of Antwerp, the number of inhabitants was estimated at fifty to sixty thousand. Probably even the young men fit for military service would soon return when they learnt that the Germans were paying well for work done and did not compel them to join their own ranks. Besides, the Governor had issued an order to the effect that all private property should be respected and that no private house should be entered by the soldiers. The three neutral Consuls--of Sweden, Holland and America--had also conferred with the Governor on the measures to be taken to restore normal life. In consequence, the Dutch Consul had advised his countrymen resident in Antwerp, numbering up to 20,000, to return. The German colony was estimated at 18,000, including many wealthy merchants. These also had commenced to return. The neutral Consuls most positively denied that any atrocities had been committed against Germans at the outbreak of the war.

The material damage caused to the town itself by the bombardment is very small. Consul Petri calculates that there are 40,000 houses in Antwerp. Out of these, about 300 have been damaged by shells, and 100 burnt down--hence no more than 1 per cent. He valued the buildings that had been burnt down at something like £500,000, and those damaged by shells at about £150,000.

Consul Petri’s chauffeur had fled, and when we made a tour through the town the Consul drove the car himself. He was familiar with all the spots in the southern parts of Antwerp where shells had struck. The northern part had escaped damage altogether. We saw several yawning rents at the street level, where shells had laid open the cellars, leaving large gaping chasms. The Argentine Consul, who, like most other people, had taken refuge in a cellar, had been killed by one of these shells.

In other places the shells had struck the roof, carrying away the whole garret floor, and leaving here and there nothing but the tattered shreds of girders rattling in the breeze. Frequently a shell had struck in the middle of a house-front without causing any damage visible from the street, beyond tearing a huge hole in the wall and shattering all the panes and window frames. Black streaks on the walls showed that fire had broken out. On closer examination we found, as a rule, that the principal havoc had been wrought on the side away from the street.

We also saw how the shells had struck the roadway and burst, ripping up the stone pavement and throwing large mounds and fragments against adjacent houses, where cavities biting into the brickwork gaped red out of the white plastering. In one place we could see how a shell had carried away a roof and some ten yards of coping, and had then crashed into the opposite house on the other side of the street.

All rubbish and brickwork which had tumbled into the streets and on the pavements had already been piled up in heaps, but had not yet been carted away for want of horses and vehicles. Among the heaps of ruins at the _Marché aux Souliers_ the gas was escaping from burst pipes and burning with blue wavering flames, presenting a weird spectacle at night.

Our run also brought us to _St. Jacques_, a magnificent church, rich in works of art representing subjects from sacred history. The candles burning in front of some images of saints were inadequate to dispel the gloom. The features of the Saviour on a Crucifix revealed abysmal depths of pain and sorrow; it seemed as if darkness had descended for ever on the earth and overpowered him. The worshippers were easily counted. Among them I noticed a few young women confessing their sins in the confessional chairs, giving the listening priests an insight into some of the most secret recesses of human life.

St. Paul’s can boast if anything a still greater ecclesiastical splendour. The interior was brightly illumined with electric light, but the church itself is jealously hidden in the midst of a dense cluster of houses.

As it was still daylight, we decided to cross over to St. Anne’s on the western bank of the Scheldt. The ferries were still plodding steadily to and fro, but were now only bringing refugees back to Antwerp. One of the ferries was just lying to, and a broad gangway was thrown out to bridge the interval of one yard between the ferry and the quay. A restive grey horse shied at the gangway, reared, backed and fell into the river. “He is lost,” cried the marines, “he will find no place where he can get ashore.” The horse swam out into the Scheldt, but soon turned back. Meanwhile it was caught in the swirling current and disappeared. A boat went out to its aid, and towed it to a steep stairway. The horse was now spent and no longer attempted to swim. Ropes and lines were passed round its body and with united strength they pulled it up to the pavement. Here the horse lay as if dead. They rubbed it with straw. Presumably it revived, for when we returned from the other bank it was gone. It was only a horse! And yet it had caused men’s hearts to beat faster for a good half-hour!

Yet, strangely enough, all the dead cavalry and transport horses whose swollen bodies lie on the road between Brussels and Antwerp, failed to move us deeply--not to speak of the graves with the small white crosses which we pass so heedlessly on our road.

A last gleam of daylight was still lingering when we drove up to the imposing _Hôpital Militaire_, where I wished to call on Sister Martha for the last time. She was the only German among a number of Belgian Sisters. The medical staff consists partly of German naval surgeons, partly of Belgians. The surgeon-in-chief, whom I had met in Kobe, had been in Stockholm in July, just before the war broke out. The hospital had 700 beds, most of which were now occupied by Belgian soldiers, a few Germans and seventeen Englishmen. I talked to six of the latter in one of the pavilions. When I asked what they thought of the war they all replied: “Sir, we had got our orders, all we had to do was to obey and do our duty!” One of them admitted: “I suppose we could not well look on idly when the Germans were capturing the world’s trade.” Another thought it was absurd that men should go out and kill each other, and he declaimed about “this horrible, this terrible war.” All were longing for home, and asking whether we thought they would get there by Christmas. I was unable to reassure them on this point. “If at least our relatives knew that we are alive!” they said. They were all serene and dignified, and greatly appreciated the kind and solicitous care they received. What a pity that they should be lying there, counting the lingering hours! Nevertheless one feels greater pity still for the Belgians who have been left in the lurch by their great tempters and “protectors,” and who have lost their country and their independence. After all it is best to stand on one’s own legs and to follow the watchword of the boy scout: “Be prepared.”

We had no time to visit Rubens’s house, standing in the street bearing his name. It has been on fire repeatedly since his time, and is entirely changed. But we entered Mrs. Osterith’s house. The Governor had taken up his quarters there. He is a refined and humane man, who is doing all he can to infuse new life into the dead town, and wishes to see its industry and prosperity flourishing afresh under the new forms which the inexorable necessities of war have brought forth. Mrs. Osterith herself was an old acquaintance of mine. In 1903 I had been to a great reception at this magnificent house, which might almost be called a palace. The noble lady is seventy-four, and full of humour. She had remained in Antwerp during the bombardment, and together with fifty-eight persons, members of the household and acquaintances, taken refuge in the vast cellars under the house. Her bed had stood between bins of old wine, and she slept there while shells crashed over the burning town. Once the Spanish Minister paid her a visit, and she received him in her “bombardment dress,” a peignoir. At last came the hour of release, and she returned with her household from her subterranean captivity to the realms of daylight.

Finally, we made for the _Hôtel Terminus_, where we supped in the company of General Bailer, Colonel Müller, Major Elert, Captain Lamprecht, and a couple of other officers. Our company was also joined by Lieutenant-Colonel Schaubode, who had commanded the siege artillery and had been rewarded for his merits with the Iron Cross of the first class. He was so used to fire that he slept soundly while shells were whizzing around him. He told us various instances of the strange freaks of fate which occur in this connection. During an engagement, a General and a Major stood talking on the high road. A shell fell near them. The Major was sent away on some errand, and had scarcely moved away when there came another shell, which struck the General so effectually that he literally vanished from sight.

On another occasion two officers were living in the same quarters in a town which was being shelled. When the house was struck by a shell, which, however, did no damage to speak of, one of the officers thought that they might consider themselves safe, as surely the same house was not likely to be hit more than once. The other, however, sought new quarters and induced his friend to follow him. As soon as they had left, the house was totally destroyed. It turned out that it was a public office, where the enemy took it for granted that the German commanders would take up their quarters.

Thus, chance often seems to play a great part. To live in a bombarded town is like a game of chance, as no one can tell where the shells will strike. The wisest course is to discard all calculations and to trust one’s life to God’s hands. We have already seen how the Swedish Consul in Antwerp, who exposed himself to danger, came off scot-free, while his Argentine colleague, who took refuge in an apparently safe cellar, was killed.

During my stay in Antwerp I had an opportunity--though only once--of meeting the Rev. Börjeson, Seamen’s Missionary, a son of the great sculptor. Börjeson told me various things about the refugees, and the hardships they suffered. They had camped out in woods and pasture lands, but in Holland they had been well received, and the Dutch had helped them all they could. In this connection I expressed a wish to see one of the high roads leading north, and Consul Petri, with his usual hospitality, placed his car at my disposal; accordingly, on the 18th of October, we started on the road leading to Bergen-op-Zoom.

On our drive through the town we observed, to our pleasant surprise, that some of the railways were already working--a new sign of reawakening life, even if of no great significance. At the bridge across the town moat our papers were carefully examined, whereupon we proceeded through the suburb of Merxem. West of this is the fort of the same name. This had been surrendered without a fight, though surrounded on all sides by barbed-wire entanglements; a number of trees had been felled to clear the range, and houses had been pulled down, all--so it seemed now--needlessly!

The road was stone-paved and shaded by fine oaks and beeches; it passed through the villages of Donck, Eckeren, and Cappellen. Quite close to the frontier we passed between a couple of the extreme fortifications on the northern front. These, too, were surrounded by barbed-wire entanglements and an area of demolition, which had not been caused by the attackers but by the defenders. In one place a barricade had been erected right across the road--all to no purpose.

Dryhoek is the name of one of the northernmost works, where we made a brief inspection, accompanied by a young German lieutenant and a Belgian merchant, a friend of Consul Petri. Dryhoek has been totally demolished, but the destruction was not wrought by German artillery. When the Commander recognised that the fortifications would fall into the hands of the Germans, he decided at least not to leave them to the enemy in undamaged condition, and ordered the garrison of about two hundred men to march off, whereupon he set fire to the powder magazine and blew himself up together with his fort. The great concrete blocks now lying scattered on the site form a monument over his grave. Even if nothing is won by such an act one cannot but recognise that it requires rare fortitude and resolution.

The German lieutenant told me that several minor after-explosions had taken place on the site. Yesterday he had found among the ruins the arm of a man, evidently the Commander’s, unless one of the men had remained to die with his chief.

The fort was crescent-shaped, with four turrets for 12- and 15-cm. guns, having a range of 8-10 kilometres, and one turret for 7.5-cm. guns, intended for short-range fighting. This turret faced north, and was the only one which remained intact besides the breastwork of sandbags for the defending infantry.

All along the road we passed returning fugitives. At the village of Putten the frontier post is in the middle of the street, where the Dutch and the German flags float side by side, and where Dutch soldiers guard the frontier. All passports are scrutinised here. As for ourselves, we had no difficulty in being passed through, and we proceeded some distance to the north through a rather sparsely cultivated tract, where young pines were growing on both sides of the road. Scattered paper, rags, empty bottles and other vestiges marked the spots where the fugitives had camped. They had fared very ill in the chilly autumn nights. Some had got separated from their dear ones and were searching for them. They had sped on by night as well as by day on this _via dolorosa_, and it was not surprising that they lost each other in the darkness. The Dutch mounted police patrols could not help them, they could only maintain order. Many a woman gave birth to a child prematurely by the roadside. Indescribable scenes were enacted in this fleeing caravan, distracted with fear and anxiety. But even they, perhaps, could not forbear a smile when for instance they saw a big stout matron laboriously dragging an easy chair on which she sat down to rest at every fiftieth step! And grateful, indeed, they must have felt, when the Dutch regaled them with bread, soup, and other food!

But now they were returning in endless procession, which however, was far more sparse than it had been a few days ago. They came on foot, on bicycles or guiding dog-drawn carts and pushing wheelbarrows. Many were riding in solid vehicles with or without springs. I had scarcely expected to see that so many Belgian horses had got over whole-skinned to Holland. Now they were returning to their old stables.

As one tarries by the roadside awhile to watch this procession of poor half-starved and frozen people deprived of livelihood, home and country, one cannot but ask: “_Whose is the fault?_”

I have on various occasions witnessed scenes of Belgian misery and distress, which nearly broke my heart. I felt glad that there are charitable souls in the world who are collecting means to alleviate this distress.

* * * * *

Jesus said to his disciples: “Take heed that no man deceive you.... Ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famine and earthquakes in divers places. But all these are only the beginning of sorrows. Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for My name’s sake. And then shall many be offended and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.... When ye therefore shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place (whoso readeth, let him understand): then let them which be in Judæa flee into the mountains: let him which is on the housetop come not down to take anything out of his house: neither let him which is in the field return back to take his clothes. And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days! But pray ye that your flight be not in winter, neither on the sabbath day: for then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be....

“Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come. But know this, that if the good man of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up. Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.... Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away.”