Title: The martyrdom of Nurse Cavell: The Life Story of the Victim of Germany's Most Barbarous Crime
Author: Hill, William Thomson
Language: English
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[Illustration:

  _Frontispiece._     [_By the courtesy of the Illustrated London News._

NURSE CAVELL.]



  _The Martyrdom of
  Nurse Cavell._

  [Illustration]

  _The Life Story of the Victim of
  Germany’s Most Barbarous Crime._

  _By William Thomson Hill._

  [Illustration]

  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._

  [Illustration]

  _LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO._
  _PATERNOSTER ROW_    ᛭     1915



NURSE CAVELL’S

LAST MESSAGE TO THE WORLD.


“But this I would say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity,
I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or
bitterness to anyone.”



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


  =The latest portrait of Nurse Cavell.= (_From
  Photo Copyright Farringdon Photo Company_)          (_see cover_)

  =Nurse Cavell= (_Photo by courtesy of Illustrated
  London News_)                                      _Frontispiece_

  =The Rev. Frederick Cavell, father of Nurse
  Cavell.= (_Daily Mirror Photograph_)           _facing page_ =16=

  =Mrs. Cavell, mother of Nurse Cavell.= (_Daily
  Mirror Photograph_)                                   ”      =17=

  =Nurse Cavell when a child, with her mother
  and elder sister.= (_Photo Copyright Farringdon
  Photo Company_)                                       ”      =32=

  =The Rectory, Swardeston, where Nurse Cavell
  was born.= (_Daily Mirror Photograph_)                ”      =33=

  =Nurse Cavell in her garden.= (_Daily Mirror
  Photograph_)                                          ”      =48=

  =Nurse Cavell, from a photograph taken in
  Brussels.= (_Photo Copyright Farringdon Photo
  Company_)                                             ”      =49=



CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD.


In the early seventies there were living at the country rectory of
Swardeston, near Norwich, a clergyman and his wife and little family.
There was a “New” and an “Old” Rectory. Both are still standing, much
as they were then, except that the trees are older, and the “New”
Rectory has long ago lost any signs of newness. It is one of the ways
of Old England to call some of its most ancient things New, as if it
could never learn to tolerate change kindly, even after centuries of
wont.

There is a Newtimber Place in Sussex whose walls were built before the
Armada. There is a New Building in Peterborough Cathedral which was
completed before the Reformation. New Shoreham took the place of Old
Shoreham before Magna Charta was signed.

The Rector, the Rev. Frederick Cavell, lived with his family at the
New Rectory. It is a pleasant sunny house with a large garden. Such
parsonages are common in all the unspoiled rural parts of England. A
little gate leads to the churchyard close by.

In a great city no man would live willingly close by a cemetery.
In such a village as Swardeston the nearness of the graveyard is a
consecration. New graves appear among the old ones from time to time.
The oldest of these others have faded gently into the grass. Nobody
is left to tend them or to remember whose bones they cover. Yet the
history of many a family can be traced back for three centuries on the
lichen-covered stones.

Some day, when the war is over, another grave may be dug in this quiet
spot. If the poor mutilated frame of Edith Cavell is ever permitted
to be brought back home, her countrymen will come here to look upon
the place where she lies. In this October of 1915 she sleeps in a land
ravaged by war, and those who killed her will not stoop even to the
tardy pity of giving back her body.

But in those early seventies the village churchyard was not a place of
sadness to the Rectory children. They played hide-and-seek among the
sloping tombstones. The church and churchyard were, as they still are,
the centre of the village life. Gay doings, such as a wedding, took
place under the shadows of the elms and yews.

The whole community assembled there on any day of special interest.
The churchyard was the Trafalgar Square of Swardeston. For it was
not remote from the houses, as many village churchyards are. Norfolk
labourers swung their heels on the wall in the long evenings of the
days before village institutes and reading rooms were invented.

In these early seventies the village talk still harked back sometimes
to the War of the French and Prussians. Its politics dealt with such
names as “Dizzy” and Gladstone and Joseph Arch, the agricultural
reformer--and, what was more to the point, a Norfolk man. In later
years the village church saw the celebrations of Queen Victoria’s two
Jubilees and King Edward’s Coronation--“a Norfolk landlord, and a rare
good ’un,” as they liked to say in Swardeston.



CHAPTER II

LIFE IN THE RECTORY.


Home life in the Rectory was tinged, as was that of most English
homes at the time, with Evangelical strictness. On Sunday all books,
needlework, and toys were put away. The day began with the learning
of collect or Catechism. As soon as the children were big enough they
attended services in the morning and afternoon.

Evening services were not yet introduced in Swardeston. Light was not
cheap, and the way across the country fields to church was no adventure
for Sabbath clothes on dark winter nights. Thus the closing hours on
Sunday were home hours for Rectory and village. Let those who have no
memories of such times scoff if they think fit. A memory is better
than a jest.

Edith Cavell’s father was Rector of this parish for more than fifty
years. He is dead now, but the villagers remember him well. His
portrait shows him with a mouth and chin of unusual firmness. His eyes
are kindly, but there is little sense of humour about them. It is
notably the face of an upright man. Surely capable of sternness, he
would be just to the point of inexorableness unless his face belies
him. A sense of duty is implicit in every line; and we have the best of
reasons for knowing that he transmitted this part of his character to
his daughter Edith.

“The clever Miss Cavell” she was called in later years when she worked
at a London hospital; but a more dominant characteristic was a rigid
insistence upon what she deemed to be right. This was the constant
theme of the father’s sermons to his village flock. He would not
hesitate to reproach from the pulpit any member of the congregation,
whatever his station, whom he considered guilty of grave fault.

The mother (who is now eighty years old, and lives very quietly at
Norwich) brought a gentler influence to bear upon the Rectory life.
There is a picture of her with two of her little girls. The mother
wears the wide flounces which to-day are among the earliest memories
of the “Men of Forty.” Flounces that were a protection and a promise.
Something for little hands to cling to when the legs were not yet
sure of their way. These flounces made a royal road from earth to the
children’s heaven. The grown-up world far out of reach was always
within call of a pull at the ample skirts.

Mrs. Cavell was a happy mother, and her children were happy too. So
early as the days we are speaking of her eyes had something wistful in
them. It was almost as if some inner consciousness had told her then of
the distant, poignant future.

So the family grew up in a contented, well-ordered home, with plenty
of outdoor games and sunshine, such as country children have. Long
afterwards, in the midst of London slums, Edith Cavell would talk of
the ripening blackberries far away in the Norfolk lanes, and of the
great jam-making times which followed.



CHAPTER III.

WORK IN LONDON.


Like Charlotte Brontë, another vicar’s daughter, Edith Cavell first
learned something of the wider world in a Brussels school. It was
commoner then than now--meaning by “now” before the war--for English
girls to be sent to Belgium to school. Charlotte Brontë’s Brussels
life has left us at least one imperishable book. Edith Cavell has left
no written memorials of those times; but if we would reconstruct her
life we may imagine some such background as that of “Villette”: the
strangeness of a foreign city, fascinating by its novelty yet repelling
by alien atmosphere.

The lot of a school-girl is not too happy at the best among new
companions. When their language and ways are those of a foreign
country they can become a source of torture to a sensitive child. Some
of these school-girl irritations Edith Cavell had to bear; yet such
early annoyances evidently left little mark on her, for she returned
many years later to Brussels of her own free will, and conquered the
affections of the Belgians a second time.

Edith Cavell’s early womanhood was spent in London--at the London
Hospital, the St. Pancras Infirmary, and the Shoreditch Infirmary in
Hoxton. Her training was obtained at the London Hospital, the great
institution in the Whitechapel Road which is now nursing many wounded
soldiers. The women who train in this hospital pass through a hard
school. All hospital nurses work hard, but the nurses who come from
“The London” think they know more of the strain of their calling than
any others.

“The London” proposes to raise a memorial to Nurse Cavell. It is their
right and hers that this should be done. For “The London” gave her the
thorough training which enabled her to become the skilful teacher of
others, and to instruct the nurses who should succour with equal care
the wounded of all nations.

At the end of her arduous training at the London Hospital in 1896,
Miss Cavell went to St. Pancras Infirmary as Night Superintendent.
She stayed there for a little more than three years. Then she became
Assistant Matron at the Shoreditch Infirmary in Hoxton. She left Hoxton
in 1906 to start the work in Brussels which ended only with her cruel
death.

Including the training years at the London Hospital, Edith Cavell had
given twenty-two years to nursing the sick. She was twenty-one years
old when she began this work. She was forty-three when she met her
death. Thus she had given up the best years of a woman’s life without a
break, save for the occasional precious holidays, of which we shall say
a word presently.

The work in London was one of unvarying routine in the most dismal
surroundings. Nothing but a real devotion to the task could have made
the monotony tolerable.

The writer asked one of those who worked with her for part of this
time what was the reason that decided Edith Cavell to become a nurse.
“She felt it was her vocation,” was the simple answer; “isn’t that
enough?” The vocation, in these great London infirmaries, consisted
in preserving a cheerful face day in and day out; in ruling, with
kindness but also with firmness and an unfaltering tact, old men and
women, children from the poorest slums; in being constantly in contact
with pain and suffering and in the near presence of death. Those who
remember her work in London--and they are very many--speak of her
unselfishness and of a shy pride about the details of her labours.

What she did for her patients she liked to be a secret between herself
and them. She would follow up the “cases” to their homes. The Matron
and her fellow-nurses guessed some of these acts of week-day holiness;
but Nurse Cavell never spoke of them. She went about doing good among
the neat beds of the wards and in the unlovely surroundings of the
neighbouring streets, doubtless thinking sometimes of the Norfolk
village where the sun was shining beyond the fog, yet never letting the
patients see that she had any thoughts except for them.

But with this sympathy went a rare strength of mind. Her name “Clever
Miss Cavell” was not used in envy. It was a simple recognition of the
fact that she had what is called a capable brain. She always knew what
to do in a difficult situation. A fellow-nurse in trouble was always
advised to consult Miss Cavell.



CHAPTER IV.

UPHILL WORK IN BRUSSELS.


Edith Cavell needed all her strength of character in her first years in
Brussels. When she went there nine years ago as Matron of a Surgical
and Medical Home, English nursing methods were not appreciated on the
Continent as they are now. Nursing was regarded as one of the functions
of the Church. Miss Cavell was a Protestant as well as a foreigner. She
was felt to be a rival of the nuns and sisters working under religious
vows.

The authorities of the Catholic Church looked coldly upon an enterprise
which, from their point of view, had an aspect of irreligion and
freethinking. But it was not long before the Matron’s efficiency
and tact carried the day. A well-known priest trusted himself to
the English lady. His tribute to her devotion and skill brought
public opinion to her side. In 1909 she established a training home
for nurses. The authorities recognised and encouraged her; and
shortly before the outbreak of war she was provided with a modern and
well-equipped building.

The first warning of the war came when she was spending a holiday at
home with her mother at Norwich. During these years in Brussels two
holidays a year had been spent in England. They were happy halting
places in a rough journey. What made them so pleasant to Edith Cavell
was that she could spend them with her mother.

The love of the younger woman for the old was one of the most beautiful
aspects of her character. “People may look upon me as a lonely old
maid,” she said once to a friend; “but with a mother like mine to look
after, and, in addition, my work in the world which I love, I am such
a happy old maid that everyone would feel envious of me if they only
knew.”

That was her secret--her love for her mother and her work. It was that
which enabled her to look upon the world as a beautiful garden, where
there was always something to do for sickly plants. The real flowers,
and the care of them which could only be given in English holidays,
were almost a passion to her from the earliest Rectory days.

Her success as a nurse, both in Brussels and the slums of London, owed
three-parts of its efficacy to her overflowing sympathy. “It was her
gentle way,” said an old patient, “that did most to make me well again;
I felt she was a minister of God working for my good.” And there are
wounded British soldiers who have pressed the doctors to send them back
quickly to the firing line. “We will go back willingly,” they say, “to
avenge this great woman’s death.”

[Illustration:

  [_Daily Mirror Photograph._

THE REV. FREDERICK CAVELL, FATHER OF NURSE CAVELL.]

[Illustration:

  [_Daily Mirror Photograph._

MRS. CAVELL, MOTHER OF NURSE CAVELL.]

Every holiday in England was spent with the aged mother, who looked
forward to these meetings as much as the daughter. Without warning, the
war broke into the last of these holidays in the full summer of 1914.
Edith Cavell made her mind up promptly. Her holiday was not yet over,
but she hurried back at once. “My duty is out there,” she said; “I
shall be wanted.”



CHAPTER V.

THE COMING OF THE GERMANS.


We reach now the last year of Edith Cavell’s life, for which all the
others had been a preparation. When she arrived in Brussels, the
Germans were shelling Liége. The gallant little Belgium Army stood
drawn up across the path of the invaders. It was believed that the
French and British would soon arrive to drive the Germans back. The
Belgian Government was still in Brussels. Cheery Burgomaster Max kept
order with his Civic Guard. In the autumn of 1915 we are all wiser.

Miss Cavell has herself described, in an article sent home to the
_Nursing Mirror_, how the bitter truth came home to Brussels:--

 Brussels lay that evening [August 20th] breathless with anxiety. News
 came that the Belgians, worn out and weary, were unable to hold back
 the oncoming host who might be with us that night. Still we clung to
 the hope that the English Army was between us and the unseen peril....

 In the evening came the news that the enemy were at the gates. At
 midnight bugles were blowing, summoning the Civic Guard to lay down
 their arms and leave the city. Many people were up through the dark
 hours, and all doors and windows were tightly shut. As we went to bed
 our only consolation was that in God’s good time right and justice
 must prevail.

The sympathies of Nurse Cavell were all with the Belgians and their
Allies. How could it be otherwise? Yet, when the Germans came she spoke
with sympathy of the tired and footsore men in the enemy’s host:--

 On August 21st [she wrote] many more troops came through; from our
 road we could see the long procession, and when the halt was called at
 midday and carts came up with supplies some were too weary to eat, and
 slept on the pavement of the street.

 We were divided between pity for these poor fellows far from their
 country and their people, suffering the weariness and fatigue of an
 arduous campaign, and hate of a cruel and vindictive foe bringing
 ruin and desolation on hundreds of happy homes and to a prosperous and
 peaceful land.

 Some of the Belgians spoke to the invaders in German, and found they
 were very vague as to their whereabouts, and imagined they were
 already in Paris; they were surprised to be speaking to Belgians, and
 could not understand what quarrel they had with them.

 I saw several of the men pick up little children and give them
 chocolate or seat them on their horses, and some had tears in their
 eyes at the recollection of the little ones at home.

 From that date till now we have been cut off from the world....

The German nurses training under Miss Cavell had already
left--conducted to the frontier by her to save them the anxiety of
being in an enemy capital. At this time the German soldiers were
ruthlessly slaughtering Belgian women and children. The new authorities
approved of her continuing her work: no longer, since the outbreak of
war, a training institution, but a Red Cross Hospital. It is admitted
even by her enemies that she threw herself ardently into her work
without respect of nationality. Wounded Belgians and Germans were
treated alike. Many German officers passed through her hands.

There is now in hospital in England a wounded Belgian who knew Miss
Cavell in Brussels in those first days of the German occupation, and
who speaks of the universal affection in which she was held.



CHAPTER VI

WEAVING THE NET.


The full story of the next few months of Edith Cavell’s life cannot
be told until after the war is over. Brussels, as she had written,
became cut off from the world. The hospitable old city became a nest
of spies. “Newspapers were first stopped, then suppressed, and are now
printed under German auspices. The few trains that run for passengers
are in German hands, and wherever you go you must have, and pay for,
a passport. No one speaks to his neighbour in the tram, for he may be
a spy. Besides, what news is there to tell, and who has the heart to
gossip, and what fashions are there to speak of, and who ever goes to
a concert or a theatre nowadays, and who would care to tell of their
all-absorbing anxiety as to how to make ends meet and spin out the last
of the savings, or to keep the little mouths at home filled, with the
stranger close by?”

The frank, open nature of Edith Cavell was ill-fitted for such an
atmosphere of fear and deception. Everyone was “suspect,” as in the
days of the Paris Terror in 1793. It was enough, as then, to fall under
“suspicion of being suspect.” Edith Cavell was suspected, and cunning
men sought how they might weave a net of accusation around her.

Nurse Cavell was an Englishwoman. That, was the beginning of her
offence. I am not here to say she did no wrong. The full significance
of her own brave admissions cannot yet be revealed. Her crime was the
crime of humanity. The beginning of her offence, to the suspicious
German mind, was that she was English and was popular. Everyone spoke
of her untiring kindness and unfailing courage. It was enough. She must
be dangerous, or all the world would not speak well of her. Nobody
spoke well of the German governors of Brussels.

There is reason to believe that Miss Cavell came in contact, once at
least, with the terrible Baron Von Bissing, the Governor-General. He
formed a strong opinion of her capacity and dauntless courage. The same
head that contrived her secret trial and execution, directed, there
is little reason to doubt, the weaving of the web that ensnared her.
The cleverest spies in Von Bissing’s service were set to watch her.
They found out that she had given a greatcoat to a French soldier who
afterwards escaped across the Dutch frontier. On another occasion she
had given an exhausted Englishman a glass of water. Then the spies
said, what was likely enough, that she had given money to Belgians, and
that this had enabled them to escape.

In every part of the world these would be simple acts of humanity--for
the suspicious Von Bissing they were crimes. “This must be stopped,” he
ordered.



CHAPTER VII.

ARREST AND SILENCE.


Early in the evening of the 5th of August, a loud knock came to
the door of Nurse Cavell’s hospital in the Rue de la Culture. Five
heavily-footed German soldiers and a corporal stood outside with
a police officer. At that very moment the nurse was changing the
bandages of a wounded German. The soldiers broke open the door with the
butt-ends of their rifles, and rushed into the ward.

At a sign from the police officer--one of the creatures Von Bissing had
set to watch the nurse’s movements--the corporal seized Miss Cavell
roughly. He tore out of her hand the lint with which she was about to
bind the wounded man, and began to drag her away.

The Englishwoman, astonished but calm and dignified, asked for
an explanation. The answer was a cuff. Von Bissing had not given
instructions for any explanation. Nurse Cavell left her hospital for
the last time, and was marched through the dark streets to the military
prison of St. Gilles.

Three weeks of silence followed. Miss Cavell’s friends in England knew
nothing of her arrest. It was only by the good offices of a chance
traveller from Belgium that the news reached the family near the end
of August. At the request of the British Foreign Office, Dr. Page,
American Ambassador in London, telegraphed for information to the
American Minister in Brussels, Mr. Brand Whitlock.

The gaolers of Edith Cavell had used the interval well. It was decided,
even before her arrest, that she was to be executed. But, first of all,
seeing that the Louvain methods were grown obsolete, it was necessary
to concoct a “case” against her. The spies had not done their work well
enough. The greatcoat and the glass of water and the silver coins to
hunted men were not sufficient for a conviction. There was only one
method by which Edith Cavell could be convicted. That was from her own
mouth.

In England when the meanest felon is arrested he is warned by the
officer who reads the charge to him, that he need not make any
statement unless he wishes, and that anything he says may be used in
evidence against him. In Brussels, under German rule, Edith Cavell’s
judges deliberately set themselves to extort admissions by which to
condemn her.

They refused her an advocate. They prevented communication with any
soul who could give her counsel. They surrounded her arrest and
imprisonment with secrecy lest any warning of her danger should reach
her from outside. They contrived that she should be utterly alone.

To their astonishment they found their business easy. Miss Cavell gave
them every help in her power. She had nothing to conceal, she said.
She told them every incident which had a bearing on the charge. She
supplied dates and details. Instead of the clumsy hearsay of the spies,
her accusers had facts given them to build up a lengthy dossier. And
when all was admitted it was nothing more than a series of acts of pity.

Those who think of this confession as a woman’s weakness are in error.
Edith Cavell was no ignorant girl. She well knew what she did. She
would have been a better lawyer if she had refused to incriminate
herself. She would have been a less noble woman. What she said she said
to draw all the blame upon herself. Knowing well that death was the
punishment, she did not shrink.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE FALSE FRIEND.


As Von Bissing had arrested Edith Cavell in secret, so he sought to
judge her clandestinely. The trial took place before a court-martial on
October 7th and 8th, with that of thirty-four other prisoners. Before
this time Mr. Brand Whitlock, the American Minister, with his Secretary
of Legation, Mr. Hugh Gibson, and his legal adviser, M. de Leval, a
Belgian advocate, had stirred themselves actively on Miss Cavell’s
behalf. The story of how they were deliberately hoodwinked is one of
the most ugly features of the case.

For ten days Baron Von der Lancken, the German Political Minister, sent
no reply to Mr. Whitlock’s appeal for information, and for authority
to start the defence. Mr. Whitlock repeated his request on September
10th, but it was not until two days after this date that Baron Von
der Lancken replied to the appeal. He set forth in this letter the
only official statement ever made by the German authorities as to Miss
Cavell’s “crime.” It is worth reading in his own words:--

 _She has herself admitted that she concealed in her house French and
 English soldiers, as well as Belgians of military age, all desirous of
 proceeding to the front._

 _She has also admitted having furnished these soldiers with the money
 necessary for their journey to France, and having facilitated their
 departure from Belgium by providing them with guides, who enabled them
 to cross the Dutch frontier secretly._

 _Miss Cavell’s defence is in the hands of the advocate Braun, who, I
 may add, is already in touch with the competent German authorities.
 In view of the fact that the Department of the Governor-General_, as
 a matter of principle, _does not allow accused persons to have any
 interviews whatever, I much regret my inability to procure for Mr. de
 Leval permission to visit Miss Cavell as long as she is in solitary
 confinement._

Mr. Braun was a lawyer at the Brussels Appeal Court. As soon as the
American Legation received the intimation that he had been appointed as
the lawyer, Mr. de Leval wrote, asking him to come to the Legation. Mr.
Braun came as requested “a few days later.”

The time was now drawing close when the trial was to come on. Three
weeks had already been wasted since the American Embassy in London
first took the matter up, and nearly seven weeks had gone by since the
arrest. But when at last it appeared as though something was about
to be done, another excuse was produced. Mr. Braun’s news was that
although he had been asked to defend Miss Cavell by personal friends of
hers, he could not do so “owing to unforeseen circumstances.”

Mr. Braun stated that he had seen another Belgian lawyer, Mr. Kirschen,
who had agreed to undertake the defence. Another delay, while Mr. de
Leval got into touch with Mr. Kirschen. At last there was to be an
opportunity to obtain some details of the accusation. What had Miss
Cavell admitted? asked the American counsel. What were the documents
upon which the charge was based? What estimate had the lawyer formed of
the prospects of an acquittal?

To the astonishment of Mr. de Leval, the lawyer replied that under
German military rules he was not allowed to see his client before the
trial began. The prosecution had every opportunity of preparing its
case. The judges were fully informed of every circumstance that might
bias them against the prisoner. But the poor lonely woman in prison
could not even see her counsel in private, and all the documents were
withheld from his inspection.

[Illustration:

  _Photo Copyright_]      [_Farringdon Photo Company._

NURSE CAVELL WHEN A CHILD, WITH HER MOTHER AND ELDER SISTER.]

[Illustration:

  [_Daily Mirror Photograph._

THE RECTORY, SWARDESTON, WHERE NURSE CAVELL WAS BORN.]

In these circumstances Mr. de Leval decided that he would attend the
trial himself. Unfortunately, he did not persist in this decision.

It is extremely doubtful, in view of what happened afterwards, if the
authorities would have permitted the presence of a neutral spectator
of the administration of German “justice.” What induced Mr. de Leval
to give way was the consideration of Miss Cavell’s interests. Mr.
Kirschen urged that the presence of an American at the trial would
prejudice the prisoner’s chances. The judges would feel they were under
supervision, and would be likely to be more severe in consequence. Mr.
Kirschen declared that there was not the least chance of a miscarriage
of justice, and promised to inform Mr. de Leval of every development of
the case.

We may judge of the value of his advocacy from the fact that he
afterwards broke all these promises except one. He did tell Mr. de
Leval when the trial was coming on. He never made any report of the
progress of the trial, although it took two days. He never disclosed
what the sentence was. He never informed the only powerful friends
of his unhappy client that she was to be executed unless outside
intervention came. And when Mr. de Leval tried to find him he had
disappeared.



CHAPTER IX.

TRIAL IN SECRET.


The conspirators had thus succeeded in drawing an impenetrable veil
across their wicked purposes.

Practically the only accounts of the trial are those printed in the
German newspapers a fortnight after the execution. These tell us that
the court-martial was held in the Court of the Brussels Senate-House.
The judges are not named. The principal person accused (says the
_Hamburger Fremdenblatt_, which in the true German way assesses titles
higher than all personal characteristics) was Prince Reginald de Croy,
of Belignies, but he had not been found. The Princess Maria, his wife,
stood, however, in the dock with Edith Cavell beside her.

Miss Cavell was in the nurse’s uniform in which she had been arrested.
The white cap covering the back of the head and disclosing the neat
dark waved hair beginning to go grey at the sides, was tied beneath the
chin with a starched bow. The stiff collar surmounted the white apron.
On the nurse’s arm was the red cross of her merciful calling. Her clear
eyes looked out on a group of enemies. Overfed officers, with thick
necks and coarse eyes, faced her from the judge’s bench. Soldiers with
fixed bayonets stood between the prisoners.

Although she knew her danger, Nurse Cavell did not flinch before her
accusers. There was nothing defiant in her look. It was too serene
for anger. But the judges must have noted the weakness of the woman
they were condemning. She was fragile almost to delicacy. Two months
of prison had made her complexion ashy white. She looked about the
court with curiosity, and even in this supreme hour had time for a
compassionate smile for those who were sharing her peril.

The German papers give us an outline of the prosecution “case.” They
allege that Miss Cavell and Prince Reginald de Croy were the two
principals in a widespread espionage organisation. Aided by the French
Countess of Belleville, they had assisted young Belgian, French, and
British soldiers to escape from Belgium. The refugees were taken by
different routes to Brussels, hidden in Miss Cavell’s hospital or in a
convent, and conducted by night in tramcars out of Brussels, and then
by guides to loosely guarded points along the Dutch frontier.

When this statement was ended, Miss Cavell was asked to plead. In a
low, gentle voice, contrasting with the harsh accents of her accusers,
she replied that she believed she had served her country, and if that
was wrong she was willing to take the blame. The lips of some of her
fellow-prisoners quivered as they heard these brave words.

Fearlessly, and in quiet, firm tones, Miss Cavell went on to disclose
facts which provided chapter and verse for her “crime.” The questions
were put in German, then translated by an interpreter into French,
which Miss Cavell of course knew well. “She spoke without trembling
and showed a clear mind,” an eye-witness afterwards told Mr. de Leval.
“Often she added some greater precision to her previous depositions.”

The Military Prosecutor asked her why she had helped these soldiers to
go to England. “If I had not done so they would have been shot,” she
answered. “I thought I was only doing my duty in saving their lives.”

“That may be very true as regards English soldiers,” responded the
prosecutor, “Why did you help young Belgians to cross the frontier when
they would have been perfectly safe in staying here?”

The answer to this question is not recorded. “In helping Belgians I
help my own country” must have been the thought that rose to her lips.

Other prisoners were asked what they had to say, and among them, M.
Philippe Bancq, a Belgian architect, made a memorable plea, fit to put
beside Nurse Cavell’s. “I helped young Belgians to escape to join the
army,” he said. “As a good Belgian patriot I am ready to lay down my
life for my country.” Bancq has since been shot.

The prosecution asked for the death sentence to be passed upon Miss
Cavell and eight other prisoners. But “the Judges did not seem to
agree.” Nurse Cavell’s heroism appeared to have made some impression on
her enemy’s hearts.

Sentence was postponed. It seemed as though mercy might prevail.



CHAPTER X.

FIGHTING FOR LIFE.


Between the trial and the sentence some sinister influence intervened.
It is a secret of the Germans what that influence was. But we cannot
follow the incidents of the last day of Edith Cavell’s life without
becoming aware that a design had been conceived in some brain to hurry
on the last penalty before there was time for a reprieve.

Mr. de Leval had heard privately on the evening before (Sunday, October
10th) that the trial was over, and that the death sentence had been
demanded. The trial had ended on Friday, but Mr. Kirschen, the lawyer,
did not report to Mr. de Leval as he had promised. Neither on Saturday
nor Sunday could Mr. Kirschen be found, and he disappears altogether
from view after the trial. After fruitless inquiries on Sunday night,
Mr. de Leval went to see Baron de Lancken, the German Political
Minister. Late at night he succeeded in finding a subordinate, Mr.
Conrad, but could obtain no information.

On the Monday morning Mr. de Leval again saw Conrad, who assured him
that judgment would not be passed for a day or two, and that the
American Legation would be informed as soon as this took place. No word
came from Conrad all day, and none from Kirschen. The lawyer was “out
till afternoon” Mr. de Leval was told when he called at the house.

On this crucial day Mr. Brand Whitlock, the American Minister, was
ill in bed. But he was working hard to save Miss Cavell’s life. With
Mr. Hugh Gibson, Secretary of the Embassy, he prepared a letter to
Baron Von der Lancken pointing out that Miss Cavell had spent her life
in alleviating the sufferings of others, had bestowed her care as
freely on the German soldiers as on others. “Her career as a servant
of humanity,” he wrote, “is such as to inspire every pity, to call for
every pardon.” And with his own hand the Minister wrote this touching
appeal:--

 _My dear Baron,--I am too ill to present my request to you in person,
 but I appeal to your generosity of heart to support it and save this
 unfortunate woman from death. Have pity on her!_

Throughout the day the Legation made repeated inquiries of the German
authorities to know if sentence had been passed. The last was at twenty
minutes past six. Mr. Conrad then stated that sentence had not been
pronounced, and renewed his promise to let the Legation know as soon as
there was anything to tell.

At five o’clock that same afternoon the death sentence had been passed
in secret. The execution was fixed for the same night.

Three hours later the American Legation learned privately of the
deception. Mr. Gibson found the Spanish Ambassador, the Marquis de
Villalobar, and went with him to Baron Von der Lancken’s house. The
Baron was “out” as the advocate had been in the morning. Neither was
any member of his staff at home. An urgent message was sent after the
Baron. He returned with two of his staff at a little after ten. The
execution was to take place at two next morning.

Lancken at first refused to believe that the death sentence had been
passed. Even if it had the execution would not be that night, and
“nothing could be done until next morning.” But the two diplomatists
refused to be put off. They compelled the Baron to make inquiries, and
when he was obliged reluctantly to admit the truth, they urged him to
appeal to the Military Governor, Von Bissing.

At eleven o’clock Von der Lancken came back from seeing Von Bissing.
He brought a refusal. The Governor-General had acted “after mature
deliberation” and refused to listen to any plea of clemency. For an
hour longer the two devoted Ministers pleaded for the woman’s life.
It was in vain. There was no appeal. “Even the Emperor could not
intervene.” Edith Cavell was doomed. At midnight her friends departed
in despair.



CHAPTER XI

THE LAST SCENE.


The most beautiful moments in Edith Cavell’s life were those which
preceded her martyrdom. At eleven o’clock the British chaplain in
Brussels, the Rev. H. S. T. Gahan, was admitted to the cell in which
she had spent the past ten weeks.

He found her calm and resigned. She told him that she wished all her
friends to know that she gave her life willingly for her country. And
then she used these imperishable words:--

 _I have no fear nor shrinking. I have seen death so often that it is
 not strange or fearful to me._

 _I thank God for this ten weeks’ quiet before the end. Life has always
 been hurried and full of difficulty. This time of rest has been a
 great mercy._

 _They have all been very kind to me here. But this I would say,
 standing as I do in view of God and eternity, I realise that
 patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness to
 anyone._

After this the chaplain administered the Holy Communion. The clergyman
repeated the words of “Abide with me.” She joined in at the words:

  Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
  Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
  Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee.
  In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

At two o’clock in the morning they led her out with bandaged eyes
to the place of execution. The firing party stood ready with loaded
rifles. At this last moment her physical strength was not a match for
her heroic spirit. She fell in a swoon. The officer in charge of the
soldiers stepped forward and shot her as she lay unconscious.

Before the day dawned her body was laid to rest in the land occupied by
her enemies, whom with her last breath she forgave.



CHAPTER XII.

EDITH CAVELL’S MESSAGE.


The circumstances of Edith Cavell’s death became known in England on
Trafalgar Day. The news reached the public through the newspapers the
following morning. No one who was in London that day will ever forget
the sense of horror that ran through the land. From early morning a
dense crowd of people thronged round the only tangible symbol of her
martyrdom, a wreath of laurels placed among those of the sailors who
died for England. The armless Nelson looked down from his column upon
the memorial of a weak woman who had borne witness to his immortal
message. The seaman and officers who had died in the long-drawn-out
Trafalgar, welcomed her, as it seemed, to their company. And in the
mist and rain of a London October day the true spirit of England leaped
again to life.

“This will settle the matter, once for all, about recruiting in Great
Britain,” said the Bishop of London. “There will be no need now of
compulsion.” All day men competed in their eagerness to join the Army.
Continual recruiting meetings were held round the base of Nelson’s
monument. In Nurse Cavell’s native village every eligible man joined
the Forces next day. A tide of enthusiasm set in which has not yet
waned.

[Illustration:

  [_Daily Mirror Photograph._

NURSE CAVELL IN HER GARDEN.]

[Illustration:

  _Photo Copyright_]      [_Farringdon Photo Company._

NURSE CAVELL, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN IN BRUSSELS.]

Consternation and horror expressed themselves in every part of the
world. The _Staats Zeitung_, the Germans’ newspaper in New York which
defended the sinking of the “Lusitania,” disowned the crime. “This
is savagery,” said neutral Holland. “The killing of Miss Cavell will
be more expensive than the loss of many regiments,” said a great
American journal. “The peace of the future would be incomplete and
precarious,” wrote the Paris _Figaro_, “if crimes like these escaped
the justice of peoples.” The King and Parliament gave voice to
England’s sentiment.

Yet the Germans were so little conscious of what they had done that
they made the deed blacker by excuses. “We hope it will serve as
a warning to the Belgians,” wrote the Berlin official paper, the
_Vossische Zeitung_. “I know of no law in the world which makes
distinction between the sexes,” said Herr Zimmermann, the Kaiser’s
Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs. And they filled the cup of their
infamy by refusing to surrender Nurse Cavell’s body to her friends.

It is fitting that there should be some personal memorial to this
heroic life. One such, by the thoughtful initiative of Queen Alexandra,
is to be provided in the shape of an Edith Cavell Nursing Home at the
London Hospital where Miss Cavell was trained. The _Nursing Mirror_,
for which she wrote her last article, urges the institution of a
Cavell Cross for Heroism, a decoration for women only.

An Empire Day of Homage has been proposed. A great national memorial
service has been held in St. Paul’s Cathedral.

But the best memorial to Edith Cavell will be the determination of her
fellow-citizens to put aside self in willing service to their country.



APPENDIX.

SIR EDWARD GREY’S SCATHING COMMENT.


 Sir EDWARD GREY to the AMERICAN AMBASSADOR in London.

  Foreign Office, October 20th, 1915.

The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs presents his compliments to
the United States Ambassador, and has the honour to acknowledge the
receipt of His Excellency’s note of the 18th instant enclosing a copy
of a despatch from the United States Minister at Brussels respecting
the execution of Miss Edith Cavell at that place.

Sir E. Grey is confident that the news of the execution of this noble
Englishwoman will be received with horror and disgust not only in the
Allied States, but throughout the civilised world.

Miss Cavell was not even charged with espionage, and the fact that she
had nursed numbers of wounded German soldiers might have been regarded
as a complete reason in itself for treating her with leniency.

The attitude of the German authorities is, if possible, rendered worse
by the discreditable efforts successfully made by the officials of
the German Civil Administration at Brussels to conceal the fact that
sentence had been passed and would be carried out immediately. These
efforts were no doubt prompted by the determination to carry out the
sentence before an appeal from the finding of the court-martial could
be made to a higher authority, and show in the clearest manner that the
German authorities concerned were well aware that the carrying out of
the sentence was not warranted by any consideration.

Further comment on their proceedings would be superfluous.

In conclusion, Sir E. Grey would request Mr. Page to express to Mr.
Whitlock and the staff of the United States Legation at Brussels the
grateful thanks of His Majesty’s Government for their untiring efforts
on Miss Cavell’s behalf. He is fully satisfied that no stone was left
unturned to secure for Miss Cavell a fair trial, and when sentence had
been pronounced a mitigation thereof.

Sir E. Grey realises that Mr. Whitlock was placed in a very
embarrassing position by the failure of the German authorities to
inform him that the sentence had been passed and would be carried out
at once. In order, therefore, to forestall any unjust criticism which
might be made in this country he is publishing Mr. Whitlock’s despatch
to Mr. Page without delay.



THE GERMAN OFFICIAL DEFENCE.


Statement by Herr ZIMMERMANN, German Under-Secretary of State for
Foreign Affairs.

It is indeed hard that a woman has to be executed, but think what a
State is to come to which is at war if it allows to pass unnoticed
a crime against the safety of its armies because it is committed by
women. No law book in the world, least of all those dealing with war
regulations, makes such a differentiation, and the female sex has
but one preference according to legal usage, namely, that women in a
delicate condition may not be executed. Otherwise a man and woman are
equal before the law, and only the degree of guilt makes a difference
in the sentence for a crime and its consequences.

In the Cavell case all the circumstances are so clear and convincing
that no court-martial in the world could have reached any other
decision. For it concerns not the act of one single person, but rather
a well-thought-out, world-wide conspiracy, which succeeded for nine
months in rendering the most valuable service to the enemy, to the
disadvantage of our army.


SEVERITY THE ONLY WAY.

Countless British, Belgian and French soldiers are now again fighting
in the Allies’ ranks who owe their escape from Belgium to the activity
of the band now sentenced, at the head of which stood Miss Cavell.

With such a situation under the very eyes of the authorities only the
utmost severity can bring relief, and a Government violates the most
elementary duty towards its army that does not adopt the strictest
measures. These duties in war are greater than any other.

All those convicted were fully cognisant of the significance of their
actions. The court went into just this point with particular care, and
acquitted several co-defendants because it believed a doubt existed
regarding their knowledge of the penalties for their actions.

I admit, certainly, that the motive of those convicted was not unnoble,
that they acted out of patriotism; but in war time one must be ready to
seal one’s love of Fatherland with one’s blood.


TO FRIGHTEN THE OTHERS.

Once for all, the activity of our enemies has been stopped, and the
sentence has been carried out to frighten those who might presume on
their sex to take part in enterprises punishable with death. Should
one recognise these presumptions it would open the door for the evil
activities of women, who often are handier and cleverer in these things
than the craftiest spy.

If the others are shown mercy it will be at the cost of our army, for
it is to be feared that new attempts will be made to injure us if it is
believed that escape without punishment is possible or with the risk of
only a light sentence.

Only pity for the guilty can lead to a commutation. It will not be an
admission that the executed sentence was too severe, for this, harsh as
it may sound, was absolutely just, and could not appear otherwise to an
independent judge.

It is asserted that the soldiers told off to carry out the execution
refused at first to shoot, and finally fired so faultily that an
officer had to kill the accused with his revolver.

No word of this is true. I have an official report of the execution, in
which it is established that it took place entirely in accordance with
the established regulations, and that death occurred immediately after
the first volley, as the physician present attests.


  W., L. & Co., Printers, Clifton House, Worship St., E.C.
  Telephone No. 3121 London Wall.



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