BELGIAN SLAVE RAID

Otago Daily Times, Issue 16964, 28 March 1917, Page 6

BELGIAN SLAVE RAID

"WHAT I SAW AT WAYRE."

AN EYE-WITNESS'S STORY

'J' lo district of Wavre (Brabant) consists of 22 communes—thcro are communes 111 'i'ho order which summouc-ii as Wavre tho entire male population between tho ages of 17 and 56, ot 22 villages of the district of that name —about 10,0u0 men, —was posted on November 14, and read:

Notice. All men between the ages of 17 and 56 (inclusive) of the commune of aro requested to present themselves on November 15, 1916, at 8 o'clock a.m. (Geman tim?), at Wavre market place. The burgomaster should be present. The men concerned should bo carrying their identity cards, and, in case of need, their meidekarte (card of control). Small hand baggage will be allowed. Those who fail to appear will be immediately transported without delay, and by force, to the places where they are to work. Besides, they are liable to very heavy fines and long imprisonment. Priests, doctors, lawyers, schoolmasters, and professors need not present themselves. Ottignies, November 3, 1916. The Imperial Kreischef of Nivelles, Graf von Schweiun.

So it is for to-morrow. And the notice not posted until 7 o'clock in the morning, an hour when all men who are not out of work are already in the factories or in tlie yards. They were expecting, they were fearing, this order. iiut, without doubt, they had had a forlorn hope that i. would be delayed; a vague hope, one of those hopes which instinct keeps alive, against all reasoning, in tho souls of tho people. Undoubtedly they had not believed it. I hey did not believe it until, when tho notico was posted, suddenly, among tho women and children came tho panic-stricken desolation of complete surprise. The workers, w "° not know of it, had to bo warned; they had to bo warned so that they might have time to prepare, so that th.'s day they might spend with their dear ones—the last, poihaps, and together to take such precauPoor, unavailable, such as were possible. The weeping women went to fetch their men, to tako them back to their homes; and there were heart-brcakin* 1 * seenos, poignant but admirable in the feelings of the simple, stoical devotion which they reveal. f llie greater part of these homes are poor, two years of 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 ono, and to-morrow, if the father, if the oldest son is sent away, there will bo no more resources. That matters nothing; there is no thought except for tho beloved being who is threatened, in tho bundle thev aro preparing they put tho last warm garment, tho last blanket, all the bread they liavo left, everything—to-morrow, indeed, when he is gone, who will want to eat! A MELANCHOLY PROCESSION, lney muse ac vvavro' at o o'ciocic, says the oruer. And lor tnu greater pa.t of tno suiiiiiioiiuu tne way lu uiu oi tile CuiHoii is long; olio Hour, two nourst J-licro aro no luurc iarm wagons in uie country; there are no more trains. JLUuy niuat wuak, carrying tiiuir bags, oo tuuy must leave eariy. lioioro 0 o'clock tile piuC(jss.on, tne memiiouoiy auu mii:aoie procession, oegms on me rouus m tne oiling cold, me oart iNovuuher morning, the freezing winu, lor tne weatiK-r is cruel, iSd.iu.ro, menacing and darK, accentuating the anguish in tUt.r hearts. iiut tiiuy must by siron b The impression oi despair must not be given. lYiost oi tho men have torD.ciaui uieir lamilics to accompany tnem; tne anguisn ol tne separation mignt make them snow weakness. inis not bo, sd nea'riy all oi them arc go.ng aione. One sees, marenmg to their (Jaivary, only groups ol men, ina.rch.ng in Silence, and heavily, heavily, as if their poor meagre bunoles were very heavy. Unly a lew women, who have not been able to control themselves, lollow, weeping. Here is Wavre. 'ihe little viilago lies grim and grey on this sad morning. It is hemmed in by troops, who, at all openings, bar the way. Men are engullted in the narrow streets lead.ng to the market place, the huge square, with its low houses, with shaky facaucs, sorrowful remains of a savage invas.on. 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, beh.nd the warring troops, the crowd from which come cries, names, words of encouragement or even words of farewell, to the poor people, rounded up, -village by village, who are waiting, dejectedly, pitiful in their impotence and their humiliation. A 'few among them remember, w.th a little sorrowful smile, that yesterday in tho same place there had been a pig market. CHOOSING THE SLAVES.

. The work of choos.ng begins. By groups of a thousand, the men are conducted to a school building, where the agent of the German authorities keeps office. To get at the school builduig the road runs by the banks of the Dyle. It is the picturesque spot ol Wavre. In normal times there is an atmosphere of peaceful gaiety of cheerfulness. This morning at the windows of the houses, the anguished laces of women, of children, of old people in tears. There are people on the roofs. They all craze greedily at the passing lines. They want to see once more, perhaps for tho last time, a .husband, a son, a brother, perhaps a financee. After a wait of four hours the crowd is finally conducted to the school. I watched the men. I know a number of them. I saw a lot of their faces grow suddenly very pale. walked in very firmly. But they are ghastly pale. One feels the anxiety which freezes them, arrests tho blood in their veins. These are the married men, the men who hav<? just left wife and children, and who ask themselves are they going to see them again very soon. If not, not for a long period, one never knows; perhaps never. The others, the young men, go with a. proud step. There is defiance in their eves. As they, approach the schoolhousc all the heads 1 are raised, listening. A rumour, a sound which grows, grows—it is —ves, it is singing. Almost one would say it was tho " Brabanconne," yes, and that was the Marseillaise coming from the courtyard of the school. And, in fact, at tho ond of that courtyard are the men who have already been taken. It is they who are singing the Belgian and French anthems When they see 11s they all cry out, "Don't sing, don't sing!" They are splendid. There is no anguish here. They are ever that full of bravado, a rude pride of masculine virility. There are no complaints. When one among tho men sees a friend released ho asks him only to tell his'family that he has been sent away; and then he starts' to sing again, passionately, singing his son"" of defiance. " ° THE HAND OF FATE. . We go in by lirst room. A doctor is there, who examines these men who aro armed with a medical certificate He seems' indulgent, quite generous; he liberates some ot Uiem. A second room Here the fate of each man will be decided brusquely, mechanically, m a few seconcis, and> without appeal One peremptory word and it is slavery—or freedom. Here aro many uniforms—Jireischef, civil commissary olncurs, and all have that military rigidity which permits of no discission. The throe delegates of the commune—generally the biu-gomastcr, an alderman, and the communal secretary—authorised to assist in the examination of their own villagers can quite evidently do nothing. Two officers, who divide tlie duty between them, make tho decisions. One 011 each side of the room, they examine the men rapidly, beginning with tho young men of seventeen to twenty-five years of age. They look at the identity card,' which gives tho trade and social position of tho holder. They throw a glance over the man, as if to weigh his strength, ins values as an animal. (Jue question, at the tip of his tongue, for the sake of formality: "Are you unemployed"" and immediately, whether the reply is negati\ 0 or afhrniativo, the decree, inexorable If the card gives a trade which would be useful "la bas," tho officer cries: " J_,eft turn." Left turn! That is tho 'road" to Gtrmany. To go out of tho room thev must go through a door divided by a barrier into two narrow corridors and <niarded by two soldiers. The left hand corridor gi\es acocss to another room, where aro gathered those who are to go. If tho officer cries " Right turn !" it is liberty. The man passes before an under officer, who put a stamp on liis identity card. The right hand corridor leads to an open window, before which is a table. They must climb thatj table on to another table placed outside tho window, and jump down into the street. It looks like an escajK). It is, indeed, an impression of flight. There is 110 impression or relief or comfort, for the heart is still torn thinking of the others, the poor others. And then the nightmare is not yet at an end. Ono must still contemplate the abominable, torturing sorrow. One. must still gather unforgettable remembrances of p'ty and paralysed indignation. At tho end of t.he little street here is the crowd. It has grown. It was lasting too long; it was too much anxiety; from all the villages * the women had come—the mothers, the w'ves. tho fiancees, weeping. They catch hold of those who have returned, demanding news, eoWbmc. Is ho ho for whom thes-

are waiting, tlicir beloved, tlio chief, the prop of the house, the man whoso departure ends ovcryt.hing? They don't know; they cannot reply; thoy_ oomo out into the midst of the poor, sobbing people, for they axe all sobbing, even those who can clasp to their hearts their man, who has been given to them.

HARROWING LAST SCENES. Durjijfr i, U(3 i,ime t goes on to the lelt; to the ieit, in that room. Wlxero are fcnoae who must go? 'ihore, each man as no arrives is aski-d if ho will sign an agreement, that is, consent to work lor the Germans, earning meanwhile a Large salary. ■11 lie consents ho g.ves his name and address, and lio is authorised to return to his home, so that ho may make his rl depart at tlie end of a few days. 11 ho refuses—and that is tho case with an immense majority—he is menaced, threatened with all calamities, and goes to join the tumultuous group of those who did as he aid, dignified and unbending, and ho is greeted, with cheers as *lor a victory —the victory of a man who submits, but whose spirit lias no submission. Wo are still waiting. They aro wuitui, s for the number to be sufficiently large. \\ hen it is, it is surrounded bv soldiers with fixed bayonets and encircled by avalry. I lien it is "en route lor the X" 0 " ! ~ J; . wo . officers march a little m u'hinc CU " 'j^'Sßwhipsr-yes, their liorse- '? t O . ll ' lan( Js. -Lhe side streets arc followed. fcroni time to time a weeping woman, an old man, having come this tar by the most tremendous cllort, manages to tl Jl, b t Gtweon the ranlts for one last farev h L "> |. r . a supreme embrace, but at once the soidiers push them back, often before strong lo "pt tor On the main ?. cet ; w inch is reached, at the windows of w.tnh L *>? Ji • p^or pc °p iu stlll watch, watch with their dry, fevered eyes, redu.e,^ U fi Wl i. toa n S ' and almost mechanically th™ tliiit' ha V d J kGrc ' liefs - But those whom tncj thus saiuto do not wish to break tholn' 1 lt t0 r , eassuri; courage of I dear ones who see them thus; is it l"®? to prevent an exhibition of weakttiem v e Nn l° Se , rs , who are guarding head • Jl ,^ Ca f y • ° tllcln . march with head high they sing unceasingly as they f . ° 111 tho courtyard of the school. But of toai^^Thp" 03 J' ar ,° llusk y a nd full 1 cfrnnV fk * 111111 COHICr Oi a street there is a short struggle. Always escape 1 but^i 1 " ° f l he prisoni - >rs tri cs to escape, but always a horseman pursues him b a stilmn °!l rto ranks < fho ffi ° y rom whiD, one of And then rS ti not alr , cady scnt llJ1 » back. •1' L f man ' ■ pale ' hls clenched, ! *!;, r a few minutes. What passes in thL. ott 'rf' i, What pi f? es in the hearts of thmw , °' milling by their homes, themselves into the arms of their thorn' thei ,V children? and are fcorn from But nr^ 1 SQldler? TllCy are to" in- 1 V -fT' I °" Ce agam ' th °y af e singing, n tii a louder voice. Thev are not going to break down. y croi'i!?' t 'rL Pr ° CCSSiO V, comos to a level hr . lhoy , are collected on tho raJs, Sute <W° cl " b<mkm ?nts. The station is qu.te close, and a tram of cattle trucks is OnnT i' on u° 01111 soe notlli ng more. One hears only shouts, songs, the "Brabanconno" and the »Marseillaise" aga n. I lasts a long time, a very long time— i'nl'f' l lgllt . has fallen. About 6 o'clock, suddenly tho sing ng voices are drowned bv trumps calls. Music? Yes, they have nnr, V St w? n a f c S- mmetaln tal band, u d it is this band that celebrates, with tho acccpted music of a military march, the departuro of that tra n, unligiited, lugubrious that tram, whose passing over the level cross.ng rouses such despairing sorrow and emotion that old men and the women lall lainf.ng, to the ironic sounds of that military march, qu ek, exasperating. Thev have gone But where? No one knows. What to do? No on© knows. Will thev w? 1 + como back? No one knows. Wnat we do know, that from now on we snail live with that heartremng memory, and the angush. And even ii tney come back, never again can thev live in security, that security of tho ol avs, when it was thought that such things were no longer possible.