There were seventeen or eighteen persons with me. They placed
us in front of their lines and menaced us with their revolvers, crying
out that they will make us pay for the losses they have suffered at
Alost. So we march in front of the troops.
"When the battle began we threw ourselves on our faces to the ground,
but they forced us to rise again. At a certain moment, when the Germans
were obliged to retire, we succeeded in escaping down side streets."
The priest led the way to the cot of a peasant whose cheeks had the spot
of fever. He was Frans Meulebroeck, of No. 62, Drie Sleutelstraat,
Alost. Sometimes in loud bursts of terror, and then falling back into a
monotone, he talked with us.
"They broke open the door of my home," he said, "they seized me and
knocked me down. In front of my door the corpse of a German lay
stretched out. The Germans said to me: 'You are going to pay for that to
us.' A few moments later they gave me a bayonet cut in my leg. They
sprinkled naphtha in my house and set it afire. My son was struck down
in the street and I was marched in front of the German troops. I do not
know even yet the fate of my son."
Gradually as the peasant talked the time of his suffering came on him.
His eyes began to see it again in front of him. They became fixed and
wild, the white of them visible. His voice was shrill and broken with
sobs.
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