A BELGIAN SLAVE RAID.

North Otago Times, Volume CV, Issue 13859, 20 April 1917, Page 8

A BELGIAN SLAVE RAID.

' "WHAT I SAW AT WAVRE." I

, ... ,i' : ~ f •• AN EyE-WITNESS'S STORY,

| The district; of Wavre '(ferabant) consists of twenty-two communes—there are 2800 communes in Belgium. The order which summoned at Wavre the entire male population between the ages of sevonteen ■ and fifty-six, of twenty-two villages of. the .district of that name—about ; 10,000 men—was posted on November 14th,' and read:—

Notice. All men between tho ages of seventeen and fifty-six (inclusive) of the communo of —— arc requested to present themselves on 15th November, 1910,' at S o'clock a.m. (German time) at Wavre market place, The burgomaster should be present, The men concerned should be carrying their identity cards, and, in case of need, their moldokarte (card of control). Small hand baggage will, be Those who fail to appear will be immediately transported without delay, and by force, to tho places where they arc to work. Besides, they arc liable to very heavy lines and long imprisonment. Priests, doctors, lawyers, school masters and professors need not present themselves.

Ottignies, 3rd November, 1916. The Imperial Kreischel ! of Nivelles, GRAF VON SCIMEIJLW

■ So it is for to-morrow. Ami the notice was not posted until seven o'clock in the an hour when all men who lire iiot out of work live already in'the factories or in the yards, They were expecting, tliey. were fearing, this order, But 'without doubt they had a forlorn hope that it would be delayed; a vague hope, one of those hopes which instinct keeps alive, agr.inst all reasoning, in the souls of tiic people. Undoubtedly they had not believed it. They did not believe it until, when the notice was posted,.suddenly among tlio women and children came the panic-stricken desolation of complete, surprise. The workers, who did not know of it, had to Ije warned; they had to be warned so that they might have time to prepare, so that this day they might spend with their dear ones—the last, perhaps—and together to take such precautions, poor, unavailable, such as were possible, The weeping women went to fetch their men, to take them back to their homes; and there were heart-breaking scenes, poignant, but admirable in the feelings of the simple, stoical devotion which they reveal, The greater part of these homes arc poor; two years ot war, of dear living, of rations have brought about destitution; there is nothing in the house but the portion of food strictly measured for each one, and tomorrow, if the father, if the eldest son, is sent away, there will be no more resources, That matters nothing; there ia no thought except for the beloved being who is threatened; in the bundle they are preparing they put the last warm garment, the last blanket, all the bread they have left, everything-to-morrow, indeed, when he is gone, who will want to cat! A Melancholy Procession.

The}- must be at Wavre at eight o'clock, says.the order. And for the greater part of the men summoned the way to tlio chief town of the canton is long; one hour, two hours, There arc no more farm waggons in the country; there are no more trains, They must walk, carrying their bags, So they must leave early. Before six o'clock the procession, the melancholy and iu terminable procession, begins on the roads, in the biting cold, the dark November morning, the freezing wind, for the weather is cruel, Nature menacing and dark, accentuating the anguish in their hearts, But they must lie .strong. The impression of despair must not be given. Most of the men have forbidden their families to accompany them; the anguish of the separation might make them show weakness. This must not be, so nearly all of thcyi are going alone. One sees, marching

to their Calvary, only groups of men, marching in silence, and heavily, heavily,' as if their poor meagre bundles were very heavy, Only a few women, who have not been able to control themselves, follow, weeping. Here is Wavre. The little village lies grim and grey on this sad morning. It is hemmed in by troops, who at all openings bar the way. Men are engulfed in the narrow streets leading to the market place, the huge square, with its lowhouses, with shaky facades, sorrowful remains of a savage invasion, it has been completely evacuated, and all the. roads which lead to it are empty. Only one can see, at the end of those roads,, behind the warring troops, the crowd from which come cries, names, words of encouragement, or even words of farewell, to the poor people, rounded lip, village by village, who arc waiting dejectedly, pitiful in their impotence and tlicir humiliation. A few among them remember, with a little sorrowful smile, that yesterday in the same place there had been a pig market.

Choosing tho Slaves.

The work of choosing begins, By groups of a thousand, the men are conducted to a' school' building; where the agent of the German authorities kbeps .office. To get at this school building the road runs by the-banks of the Bylc. It is the picturesque spot ;of AVavre, In normal times there is an atmosphere of peaceful gaiety, of ; cheerfulness. This morning, at the windows of tlid houses, the anguished faces, of women, of children, of old •people in tears. There are people dn Ithe ropfs, They all gaze greedily at the passing lines. They want to see, joncc more, perhaps for tlio last time, !a husband, a. son, a'brother, perhaps a Tiance. After a wait of four hours, the ! crowd.is finally conducted to the school, jl. watched the .men. I know a 'number of them. 1 saw a lot of their faces grow suddenly -very pale. They walkod in very firmly. Hut they are ghastly .pale, One' feels the anxiety 'which 'freezes them, arrests the blood, in their ,veins. These are; the married men, the linen.Mo' have just loft wife and ehildreii, and who. nsk themselves;'(ire tlicy goiiig tb' seo them again ver.y'sooii,' If not, not. for a long period, ono'iiovcv knows, porhaps new, ,Tlio others, .the :youiig ; itien r (»o fn'oml: h'l ojv.' /V.iiovVi is (lefinwoiii then eyes. As 11 np ;f>i-'oaahtl)e--.hi*.lrbhl i lioiiHpvall'"lW- f li<'sid!* 'aro vaised,' glistening,," A' 'titmoiir, ;i )o\lnd.' i whik/grows,': i grows—yos.

!it is, singing. Almost one would say ll was tbo I'Brabanconno," yes} and ,;that was, the .Marseillaise coming from, •tho courtyard of the • school. And;, in i fact, at'jtho end of that courtyard are the liflvo already been taken, It is they, who aro singing tho Belgian and Fronch anthems, When they Bee as th'ej- all cry out ''Don't sign, don 't oign." , They are. splendid, There is tio anguish here. arp over that,' full of bravado, a rude pride of mas-' culino. virility. There- are no complaints. When one among tlie men acea a friend, released i lie: asks him only to tell his family that he. has been 'sent away; and then to sing again, passionately, singing his song. of. dofiance. .

Tho Word of Fate. 1

We go in by a first room. , A doctor i 3 there, who examines those mon who iiro armed with a medical,certificate, lie seems indulgent, quite generous; lie liberates some of them, A second room. Horo the fate of each man will be decided, brusquely, mechanically, in a few seconds, and without appeal. One peremptory word—and it is slavery or freedom, Here uniforms— Kreischef, civil commissary officers, and all liavi that military rigidity which permits, of no discussion. The three delegates of the commune—generally the burgomaster, ■an alderman, and tho communal secretary —authorised to assist in tho examination of their own villagers, can quito evidently do nothing, One on each side of the room, they examine • the men rapjdly, beginning with the young men of 17 to 2a years of age. They look at the, identity card, which gives the trade and social position of the holder, They thrpw a glance over the man, as if to weigh his strength, his value as an animal. Ono question, at the tip of his tongue, for tho sake of formality: "Arc you unemployed?" and immediately, whether tho reply is negative or affirmative, the decreo, inexorable. If the card gives a trade which would be useful "la bas," the officer cries, "Left turn," Left turn! That is the road to Germany. To go out of the room they must go through a door divided by a barrier into two narrow corridors and guarded by two soldiers. 'The left hand corridor gives access to another room, where are gathered those who are to go. ,

If the officer cries "Eight turn!" it is liberty. The man passes before an under officer, who puts a stamp on hiß identity card, The right hand corridor leads to an open window, before which is a table, They must climb that table, on to another table placed outside the window, and jump down into the street. It looks like an escape. It is, indeed, an impression of (light, There, is no impression or relief or comfort, for the heart is (jtill torn thinking of the' others, the poor others. And then the nightmare is not yet at an end. One must Btill contemplate the abominable, torturing sorrow. One must still gather unforgettable remembrances of pity and paralysed indignation. At the end of the little side street hero is the cro\vd. It has grown. It was lasting too long; it was too much anxiety; from all the villages the women had conic—the mothers, the wives, the fiancees, weeping, They catch hold of those who have returned demanding news, sobbing. Is lie taken, he for whom they are waiting, their beloved, the chief, the prop of the house, the man whose departure ends everything! They don't know; they cannot reply; they come out into the midst of the poor, fobbing' people, for they are all sobbing, even those who can clasp to their hearts their man who has been given lo them,

Harrowing last' Scenes.

During this time, what goes on to the left; to the left in that room, whore are those who must go J There, each man as lie arrives, is asked if he will sign an agreement, that is, consent to work for the Germans, earning meanwhile a large salary. If lie consents, lie gives his name and address, and lie .is authorised to return to his home, so that lie ma)' make his preparations and depart at the end of a lew days. If lie refuses —jiiwl that is the case with an immense majority —ho is menaced, threatened with all calamities, and goes to join the tumultuous group of those who did as he did, dignified and unbending, and lie is greeted with cheers, as for a vie-, tory—the victory of a man who submits, but whose spirit has no submission. Wo arc still waiting. T.ltey arc waiting for the number to bo suflicicutty large. When it is, it is surrounded by soldiers with fixed bayonets, and encircled by cavalry. Then it is "en route for"the station!" Two officers, inarch a little in advance, their horse whips—yes, their horse whips—in their hands. The side streets arc followed. From time to time a weepingwoman, an old man, having come this far by the most tremendous effort, manages to slip between the ranks, for ouo last farewell, for a supreme embrace, but at once the soldiers push them buck at once, often before that long-for cmbrace. Oii the maiu street, which is reached, at the windows of the houses the poor people still watch, watch with their dry, fevered eyes, reddened with tears, and almost niochanically wave their handkerchief's. But those whom they thus salute do not wish to, break down. It is to,reassure the courage of those dear ones to see them thus; is it in order to prevent an exhibition of weakness before, those soldiers who are guarding them 'I Nearly a|l of them march with head high ; they wave their hats, and they sing, they sing unceasingly, as they sang in the courtyard of the school. But there were voices that are husky and full of tears. They march. At each corner of a street-there is a short struggle. Always one or 1 another of the prisoners tries to escape, but always a horseman pursues him anil brings him back to the ranks,, unless, by a stinging blow from his whip, one of the officers has, ivpt already sent him back. And then the man, pale, his fists clenched, is quiet-for a few minutes, .What passes in his thoughts I "NVhat passes in the hearts of those others who, niaiehing ;by their homes, throw themselves into the arms of their, wives, ltiss their 'children, ami are torn fi.om- them by a soldier ? They are quiot, too. But pretty soon, oneo again, they are sing- | ing with a loudoi voice Thei aie not going to bicak down. • J ' finally, the piotesiion oomes* to a 1 ]oul eioi wig 'Jhej air collected on/ the laily between two cinhniihinenti Tin shliou is <|iiil< ilow, mil n linn of i ittle tiinKi is in « I'l'A'K i in ee nothing mou One lieah ,>nh Shouts song 1 , tho "Bmlmuionno and the "Maisciilaibc" again/ Jwtß

a long time/ a very, long time—hours,Night has iallen. About 6 .o'clock, suddenly, tho singing voids'are drown-, ed; by trumpet calls. Music 'I 'Yes; ithey have' sent to the station a regimental band, and it is this band that celebrates with the accented music of a military march>,,the departure of that train, plighted, lugubrious; ;that train, whoso passing over tho level crossing ropes such despairing; sorrow and emotion that old- men and the women fall .fainting to the ironic sounds of tliat; military march, .quick,, exasperating.; They havo gone, But where 1 .No one knows.,, What to do? No :one knows, . Will they ever come back I No ono knows, .; No one knows. No one knows. What we do know, that from now on we shall live with that •hcartromliiig memory, and the anguish, And even if they come back, never again "can they live' in security, that security 'of tho old' days, when it .was thought that such tliiugs were no longer possible. • ■ i iv