That man was a resident of the village, a friend of
the people, but "fixed" for just this job of supplying information to
the invaders when the time came.
During my five weeks in Ghent I used to eat frequently at the Cafe
Gambrinus, where the proprietor assured us that he was a Swiss and in
deep sympathy with Belgians and Allies. He had a large custom. When the
Germans captured Ghent he altered into a simon pure German and friend
of the invaders. His place now is the nightly resort of German officers.
In the hotel where I stayed in Ghent the proprietor, after a couple of
days, believing me to be one more neutral American, told me he was a
German. He went on to say what a mistake the Belgians made to oppose the
Germans, who were irresistible. That was his return to the city and
country that had given him his livelihood. A few hours later a gendarme
friend of mine told me to move out quickly, as we were in the house of a
spy.
Three members of our corps in Pervyse had evidence many nights of a spy
within our lines. It was part of the routine for a convoy of motor
trucks to bring ammunition forward to the trenches. The enemy during the
day would get the range of the road over which this train had to pass.
Of course, each night the time of ammunition moving was changed in an
attempt to foil the German fire. But this was of no avail, for when the
train of trucks moved along the road to the trenches a bright flash of
light would go up somewhere within our lines, telling the enemy that it
was time to fire upon the convoy.
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