Atrocities And The Socialist

"With these sentries holding us up at every cross-roads, there is no
use trying to get to Antwerp," said the free-lance.

"Yes, there is," retorted the chauffeur. "Watch me the next time."
He beckoned to the first sentry barring the way, and, leaning over,
whispered into the man's ear a single word. The sentry saluted,
and, stepping to one side, motioned us on in a manner almost
deferential. We had hardly been compelled to stop.

After our tedious delays this was quite exhilarating. How our
chauffeur obtained the password we did not know, nor did we
challenge the inclusion of 8 francs extra in his memorandum of
expenses. As indicated, he was a man of parts. The magic word of
the day, "France," now opened every gate to us.

Behind the Antwerp fortifications the Belgian sappers and miners
were on an organized rampage of destruction. On a wide zone
every house, windmill and church was either going up in flames or
being hammered level to the ground.

We came along as the oil was applied to an old house and saw
the flames go crackling up through the rafters. The black smoke
curled away across the wasted land and the fire glowed upon the
stolid faces of the soldiers and the trembling woman who owned it.
To her it was a funeral pyre. Her home endeared by lifetime
memories was being offered up on the altar of Liberty and
Independence. Starting with the invaders on the western frontier,
clear through to Antwerp by the sea, a wild black swathe had been
burnt.

By such drastic methods space was cleared for the guns in the
Belgian forts, and to the advancing besiegers no protection would
be offered from the raking fire. The heart of a steel-stock owner
would have rejoiced to see the maze of wire entanglement that ran
everywhere. In one place a tomato-field had been wired; the green
vines, laden with their rich red fruit, were intertwined with the steel
vines bearing their vicious blood-drawing barbs whose intent was
to make the red field redder still. We had just passed a gang
digging man-holes and spitting them with stakes, when an officer
cried:

"Stop! No further passage here. You must turn back."

"Why?" we asked protestingly.

"The entire road is being mined," he replied.

Even as he spoke we could see a liquid explosive being poured
into a sort of cup, and electric wires connected. The officer
pictured to us a regiment of soldiers advancing, with the full tide of
life runni