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CHAPTER I CROSSING THE CHANNEL
CHAPTER I CROSSING THE CHANNEL
"What do you do for mines?" I put the question to the dear old salt at Folkestone quay, as I am waiting to go on board the boat for Belgium, this burning August night. The dear old salt thinks hard for an answer, very hard indeed. Then he scratches his head. "There ain't none!" he makes reply. All the same, in spite of the dear old salt, I feel rather creepy as the boat starts off that hot summer night, and through the pitch-black darkness we begin to plough our way to Ostend. Over the dark wate
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CHAPTER II ON THE WAY TO ANTWERP
CHAPTER II ON THE WAY TO ANTWERP
A couple of days afterward, however, feeling thoroughly ashamed of having fled, and knowing that Ostend was now reinforced by English Marines, I gathered my courage together once more, and returned to Belgium. This time, so that I should not run away again so easily, I took with me a suit-case, and a couple of trunks. These trunks contained clothes enough to last a summer and a winter, the MS. of a novel—"Our Marriage," which had appeared serially, and all my chiffons. In fact I took everything
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CHAPTER III GERMANS ON THE LINE
CHAPTER III GERMANS ON THE LINE
I was coming back with my luggage from Ostend next day when the train, which had been running along at a beautiful speed, came to a standstill somewhere near Bruges. There was a long wait, and at last it became evident that something was wrong. A brilliant-looking Belgian General, accompanied by an equally brilliant Belgian Captain, who had travelled up in the train with me from Ostend, informed me courteously, that it was doubtful if the train would go on to-day. "What has happened?" I asked. "
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CHAPTER IV IN THE TRACK OF THE HUNS
CHAPTER IV IN THE TRACK OF THE HUNS
When I look back on those days, the most pathetic thing about it all seems to me the absolute security in which we imagined ourselves dwelling. The King and Queen were in their Palace, that tall simple flat-fronted grey house in the middle of the town. Often one saw the King, seated in an open motor car coming in and out of the town, or striding quickly into the Palace. Tall and fair, his appearance always seemed to me to undergo an extraordinary change from the face as shewn in photographs. It
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CHAPTER V AERSCHOT
CHAPTER V AERSCHOT
I think until that day I had always cherished a lurking hope that the Huns were not as black as they were painted. I had been used to think of the German race, as tinged with a certain golden glamour, because to it belonged the man who wrote the Fifth Symphony; the man who wrote the divine first part of "Faust," and still more that other, whose mocking but sublime laughter would be a fitting accompaniment of the horrors at Aerschot. Oh, Beethoven, Goethe, Heine! Not even out of respect for your
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CHAPTER VI THE SWIFT RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER VI THE SWIFT RETRIBUTION
As I stood in the rain, down there in the ruined blackened piazza of Aerschot, someone drew my attention to the hole in the back-window of the Burgomaster's house. In cold blood, the Germans had shot the Burgomaster. And they had shot two of his children. And as they could not find the Burgomaster's wife, who had fled into the country, they had offered 4,000 francs reward for her. A hoarse voice whispered that in that room with the broken window, the German Colonel who had ordered the murder of
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CHAPTER VII THEY WOULD NOT KILL THE COOK
CHAPTER VII THEY WOULD NOT KILL THE COOK
Besides myself, I discover only one woman in the whole of Aerschot—a little fair-haired Fleming, with a lion's heart. She is the bravest woman in the world. I love the delightful way she drops her wee six-weeks-old baby into my arms, and goes off to serve a hundred hungry Belgians with black bread and coffee, confident that her little treasure will be quite safe in the lap of the "Anglaise." Smiling and running about between the kitchen, the officers' mess, and the bar, this brave, good soul fin
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CHAPTER VIII "YOU'LL NEVER GET THERE"
CHAPTER VIII "YOU'LL NEVER GET THERE"
As the weeks went on a strange thing happened to me. At first vaguely, faintly, and then with an ever-deepening intensity, there sprang to life within me a sense of irritation at having to depend on newspapers, or hearsay, for one's knowledge of the chief item in this War,—the Enemy. An overwhelming desire seized upon me to discover for myself what a certain darksome unknown quantity was like; that darksome, unknown quantity that we were always hearing about but never saw; that we were always mo
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CHAPTER IX SETTING OUT ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE
CHAPTER IX SETTING OUT ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE
It was on Friday afternoon, September 24th, that I ran down the stairs of the Hotel Terminus, with a little brown bag in my hand. Without saying good-bye to anybody, I hurried out, and jumped into a cab at the door, accompanied by the old professor from Liège, and the young Brussels lawyer. It was a gorgeous day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, with brilliant sunlight flooding the city; and a feeling of intense elation came over me as our cab went rattling along over the old flagged streets
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CHAPTER X FROM GHENT TO GRAMMONT
CHAPTER X FROM GHENT TO GRAMMONT
I don't know why we were all in such high spirits, for we had nothing but discomfort to endure. And yet, out of that very discomfort itself, some peculiar psychic force seemed to spring to life and thrive, until we became as merry as crickets. A more inherently melancholy type than the old Liège professor could scarcely be imagined. Poor old soul! He had lost his wife a week before the war, and in the siege of Liège one of his sons had fallen, and he had lost his home, and everything he held dea
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CHAPTER XI BRABANT
CHAPTER XI BRABANT
It was like a chapter out of quite another story to leave the train at Grammont, and find ourselves in the flagged old Brabant square in front of the station, that hot glittering end-o'-summer morning, while on the ear rose a deafening babel of voices from the hundreds of little Belgian carts and carriages of all shapes and sizes and descriptions, that stood there, with their drivers leaning forward over their skinny horses yelling for fares. The American hurried to me, as I stood watching with
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CHAPTER XII DRIVING EXTRAORDINARY
CHAPTER XII DRIVING EXTRAORDINARY
The task of arranging that party in the waggonette was anything but easy. The old Liège professor, in his sombre black, sat on the back seat, while in front sat an equally enormous old banker from Brussels, also in black, and those two huge men seemed to stick up out of the carriage like vast black pillars. They moved their seats afterwards, but it did not make any difference. Wherever they sat, they stuck up like huge black pillars, calling attention to us in what seemed to me a distinctly unde
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CHAPTER XIII THE LUNCH AT ENGHIEN
CHAPTER XIII THE LUNCH AT ENGHIEN
Dear little Enghien! I shall always remember you. It was so utterly-out-of-the-ordinary to drive to the railway station, and have one's lunch cooked by the stationmaster. A dear old man he was, that old grey-bearded Belgian. A hero too! His trains were stopped; his lines were cut; he was ever in the midst of the Germans, but he kept his bright spirits happy, and when Jean ushered us all in to his little house that formed part of the railway station, he received us as if we were old friends, shoo
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CHAPTER XIV WE MEET THE GREY-COATS
CHAPTER XIV WE MEET THE GREY-COATS
My first sight of the German Army was just one, man. He was a motor cyclist dressed in grey, with his weapons slung across his back, and he flashed past us like lightning. Everyone in the carriage uttered a deep "Oh!" It seemed to me an incredible thing that one German should be all alone like that among enemies. I said so to my companions. "The others are coming!" they said with an air of certainty that turned me cold all over. But it was at least two miles further on before we met the rest of
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CHAPTER XV FACE TO FACE WITH THE HUNS
CHAPTER XV FACE TO FACE WITH THE HUNS
Yes, there they were! And when I found myself face to face with those five hundred advancing Germans, about two kilometres out of Enghien, I quite believed I was about to lose my chance of getting to Brussels and of seeing the man I was so anxious to see. Little did I dream at that moment, out there on the sunny Brabant hillside, seated in the old voiture, with that long, never-ending line of Germans filling the tree-lined white dusty highway far and wide with their infantry and artillery, their
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CHAPTER XVI A PRAYER FOR HIS SOUL
CHAPTER XVI A PRAYER FOR HIS SOUL
On we drove, on and on. All the road to Brussels was patrolled now. At the gates of villa gardens, on the side paths, grey German sentries were posted, bayonets fixed. We drove through Germans all the way. They looked at us quietly. Once only were we stopped again, and this time it was only the driver's passport that was looked at. At last we arrived at Hall, an old-world Brabant town containing a "miracle." As far as I can remember, it was a bomb from some bygone War that came through the churc
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CHAPTER XVII BRUSSELS
CHAPTER XVII BRUSSELS
Finally, after a wild and breathless drive of thirty-five miles through rich orchard-country all the way, and always between German patrols, we entered Brussels. Crowds of German officers and men were dashing about in motor cars in all directions, while the populace moved by them as though they were ghosts, taking not the slightest notice of their presence. The sunlight had faded now, and the lights were being lit in Brussels, and I gazed about me, filled with an inordinate curiosity. At first I
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CHAPTER XVIII BURGOMASTER MAX
CHAPTER XVIII BURGOMASTER MAX
The hotel is closed to the public. "We shut it up so that we should not have Germans coming in," says the little Bruxellois widow who owns it. "But if Madame likes to stay here for the night we can arrange,—only—there is no cooking!" The old professor from Liège asks in his pitiful childlike way if he can get a room there too. He would be glad, so glad, to be in a hotel that was not open to the public, or the Germans. Leaving my companions with many expressions of friendliness, I now rush off to
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CHAPTER XIX HIS ARREST
CHAPTER XIX HIS ARREST
The story of Max's arrest was characteristic. He was busy at the Hotel de Ville with his colleagues when a peremptory message arrived from Von der Goltz, bidding him come at once to an interview. "I cannot come at once!" said Max, "I am occupied in an important conference with my colleagues. I'll come at half-past four o'clock." Presently the messenger returned. "Monsieur Max, will you come at once!" he said in a worried manner. "Von der Goltz is angry!" "I am busy with my work!" replied Max imp
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CHAPTER XX GENERAL THYS
CHAPTER XX GENERAL THYS
By degrees Brussels calmed down. But the Germans wore startled expressions all that grey wet Sunday, as though realising that within that pent-up city was a terribly dangerous force, a force that had been restrained and kept in order all this time by the very man they had been foolish enough to imprison because Brussels found herself unable to pay up her cruelly-imposed millions. Later, on that Sunday afternoon, I fulfilled my promise and went to call on General Thys, the father of one of my Aer
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CHAPTER XXI HOW MAX HAS INFLUENCED BRUSSELS
CHAPTER XXI HOW MAX HAS INFLUENCED BRUSSELS
In their attitude to the Germans, the Bruxellois undoubtedly take their tone from M. Max. For his sake they suppressed themselves as quickly as possible that famous Sunday and soon went on their usual way. Their attitude towards the Germans revealed itself as a truly remarkable one. It was perfect in every sense. They were never rude, never sullen, never afraid, and until this particular Sunday and afterwards again, they always behaved as though the Germans did not exist at all. They walked past
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CHAPTER XXII UNDER GERMAN OCCUPATION
CHAPTER XXII UNDER GERMAN OCCUPATION
In my empty hotel the profoundest melancholy reigns. The inherent sadness of the occupied city seems to have full sway here. The palm court, with its high glassed roof, is swept with ghostly echoes, especially when the day wanes towards dusk, the great deserted dining-salon, with its polished tables and its rows of chairs is like a mausoleum for dead revellers, the writing-rooms with their desks always so pitifully tidy, the smoking-rooms, the drawing-rooms, the floor upon floor of empty, guestl
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CHAPTER XXIII CHANSON TRISTE
CHAPTER XXIII CHANSON TRISTE
Chilly and wet to-day in Brussels. And oh, so triste, so triste! Never before have I known a sadness like to this. Not in cemetery, not in ruined town, not among wounded, coming broken from the battle, as on that red day at Heyst-op-den-Berg. A brooding soul—mist is in the air of Brussels. It creeps, it creeps. It gets into the bones, into the brain, into the heart. Even when one laughs one feels the ghostly visitant. All the joy has gone from life. The vision is clouded. To look at anything you
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CHAPTER XXIV THE CULT OF THE BRUTE
CHAPTER XXIV THE CULT OF THE BRUTE
Repellant, unforgettable, was the spectacle of the Germans strutting and posing on the steps of the beautiful Palais de Justice. So ill did they fit the beauty of their background, that all the artist in one writhed with pain. Like some horrible vandal attempt at decoration upon pure and flawless architecture these coarse, brutish figures stood with legs apart, their flat round caps upon their solemn yokel faces giving them the aspect of a body of convicts, while behind them reared those noble p
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CHAPTER XXV DEATH IN LIFE
CHAPTER XXV DEATH IN LIFE
What is it I've been saying about gaiety? How could one ever use such a word? Here in the heart of Brussels one cannot recall even a memory of what it was like to be joyful! I am in a city under German occupation; and I see around me death in life, and life in death. I see men, women, and children, with eyes that are looking into tombs. Oh those eyes, those eyes! Ah, here is the agony of Belgium—here in this fair white capital set like a snowflake on her hillside. Here is grief concentrated and
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CHAPTER XXVI THE RETURN FROM BRUSSELS
CHAPTER XXVI THE RETURN FROM BRUSSELS
From Brussels to Ninove, from Ninove to Sottegem, from Sottegem to Ghent, from Ghent to Antwerp; that was how I got back! At the outskirts of Brussels, on a certain windy corner, I stood, waiting my chance of a vehicle going towards Ghent. The train-lines were still cut, and the only way of getting out of Brussels was to drive, unless one went on foot. At the windy corner, accompanied by Jean and his two sisters, I stood, watching a wonderful drama. There were people creeping in, as well as cree
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CHAPTER XXVII "THE ENGLISH ARE COMING"
CHAPTER XXVII "THE ENGLISH ARE COMING"
I am back in Antwerp and the unexpected has happened. We are besieged. The siege began on Thursday. The mental excitement of these last days passes all description. And yet Antwerp is calm outwardly, and but for the crowds of peasants, pouring into the city with their cows and their bundles, one would hardly know that the Germans were really attacking us at last. The Government has issued an order that anyone who likes may leave Antwerp; but once having done so no one will be permitted to return
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CHAPTER XXVIII MONDAY
CHAPTER XXVIII MONDAY
A golden, laughing day is this 5th of October. As I fly along in my car I soon sense a new current, vivid and electric, flowing along with the stream of Belgian life. Oh, the change in the sad, hollow-eyed Belgian officers and men! They felt that help was coming at last. All this time they had fought alone, unaided. There was no one who could come to them, no one free to help them. And the weeks passed into months, and Liège, and Louvain, and Brussels, and Aerschot, and Namur, and Malines, and T
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CHAPTER XXIX TUESDAY
CHAPTER XXIX TUESDAY
It is Tuesday now. At seven o'clock in the morning old sad-eyed Maria knocks at my door. "Good news, Madame! Malines has been retaken!" That is cheering. And old Maria and myself, like everyone else, are eager to believe the best. The grey day, however, is indescribably sombre. From a high, grassy terrace at the top of the hotel I look out across the city towards the points where the Germans are attacking us. Great black clouds that yet are full of garish light float across the city, and through
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CHAPTER XXX WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER XXX WEDNESDAY
Last night the moon was so bright that my two pets, rescued from the ruins of Lierre, woke up and began to talk. Or was it the big guns that woke them, the canary, and the grey Congo parrot? It might have been! For sometimes the city seemed to shake all over, and as I lay in bed I wondered who was firing: Germans, Belgians, English, which? About three o'clock, between dozing and listening to the cannon, I heard a new sound, a strange sound, something so awful that I almost felt my hair creep wit
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CHAPTER XXXI THE CITY IS SHELLED
CHAPTER XXXI THE CITY IS SHELLED
That day, seated in wicker chairs in the palm court, we held a counsel of war, all the War-Correspondents who were left. The question was whether the Hotel Terminus was not in too dangerous a position. Its extreme nearness to the great railway station made its shelling almost inevitable when the bombardment of the city began in earnest. We argued a lot. One suggested one hotel, one another. To be directly northward was clearly desirable, as the shells would come from southward. Mr. Cherry Kearto
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CHAPTER XXXII THURSDAY
CHAPTER XXXII THURSDAY
Thursday is a queer day, a day of no beginning and no ending. It is haunted by such immense noise that it loses all likeness to what we know in ordinary life as "a day"—the thing that comes in between two nights. It is, in fact, nothing but one cataclysmal bang and shriek of shells and shrapnel. The earth seems to break open from its centre every five minutes or so, and my brain begins to formulate to itself a tremendous sense of height and space, as well as of noise, until I feel as though I am
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CHAPTER XXXIII THE ENDLESS DAY
CHAPTER XXXIII THE ENDLESS DAY
Years seem to have passed. Yet it is still Thursday morning, ten o'clock. The horror darkens. We know the worst now. Antwerp is doomed. Nothing can save her, poor, beautiful, stately city that has seemed to us all so utterly impregnable all these months. The evacuation goes on desperately, but the crowds fleeing northwards are diminishing visibly, because some five hundred thousands have already gone. The great avenues, with their autumn-yellow trees and white, tall, splendid houses, grow bare a
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CHAPTER XXXIV I DECIDE TO STAY
CHAPTER XXXIV I DECIDE TO STAY
For the moment the bombardment has ceased entirely. These little pauses are almost quaint in their preciseness. One can count on them quite confidently not to be broken by stray shells. And in the pause I am rushing along the Avenue de Commerce, trying to get round to the hotel where all my belongings are, when I run into three Englishmen with their arms full of bags, and overcoats, and umbrellas, and for a moment or two we stand there at the corner opposite the Gare Central all talking together
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CHAPTER XXXV THE CITY SURRENDERS
CHAPTER XXXV THE CITY SURRENDERS
Antwerp has surrendered! It is Friday morning. All hope is over. The Germans are coming in at half-past one. "Well," Says Mr. Lucien Arthur Jones at last, at the end of a long discussion between him and Mr. Frank Fox and myself, "if you have really decided to stay, I'm going to give you this key! It belongs to the house of some wealthy Belgians who have fled to England. There is plenty of food and stores of all kind in the house. If need be, you might take shelter there!" And he gave me the key
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CHAPTER XXXVI A SOLITARY WALK
CHAPTER XXXVI A SOLITARY WALK
Surely, surely, this livid, copper-tinted noontide, hanging over Antwerp, was conceived in Hades as a presentation of the world's last day. Indescribably terrible in tone and form, because of its unearthly qualities of smoke, shrapnel, petroleum-fumes, and broken, dissipated clouds, the darkened skies seemed of themselves to offer every element of tragedy, while the city lying stretched out beneath in that agony of silence, that lasted from twelve o'clock to half-past one, was one vast study in
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CHAPTER XXXVII ENTER LES ALLEMANDS
CHAPTER XXXVII ENTER LES ALLEMANDS
It is now half-past one, and I am back at the hotel. At least, my watch says it is half-past one. But all the many great gold-faced clocks in Antwerp have stopped the day before, and their hands point mockingly to a dozen different times. One knows that only some ghastly happening could have terrified them into such wild mistakes. Heart-breaking it is, as well as appalling, to see those distracted timepieces, and their ignorance of the fatal hour. Half-past one! And the clocks point pathetically
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CHAPTER XXXVIII "MY SON!"
CHAPTER XXXVIII "MY SON!"
And now through the livid sunless silences of the deserted city, still reeking horribly of powder, shrapnel, smoke and burning petroleum, the Germans are coming down the Avenues to enter into possession. Here they come, a long grey line of foot-soldiers and mounted men, all with pink roses or carnations in their grey tunics. Suddenly, a long, lidded, baker's cart dashes across the road at a desperate rate, wheeled by a poor old Belgian, whose face is so wild, that I whisper as she passes close t
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CHAPTER XXXIX THE RECEPTION
CHAPTER XXXIX THE RECEPTION
A singular change now comes over the silent, deserted city. First, a few stray Belgians shew on the side-paths. Then more appear, and more still, and as the procession of the Germans comes onwards through the town I discover little groups of men and women sprung out of the very earth it seems to me. All along the Avenue de Commerce, gathered in the heavy greyness on the side-paths, are little straggling groups of Anversois. As I look at them, I suddenly experience a sensation of suffocation. Am
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CHAPTER XL THE LAUGHTER OF BRUTES
CHAPTER XL THE LAUGHTER OF BRUTES
Along the Avenue the grey uniforms are slowly marching, headed by fair, blue-eyed, arrogant officers on splendid roan horses, and the clang and clatter of them breaks up the silence with a dramatic sharpness—the silence that has never been heard in Antwerp since! As they come onward, the Germans look from left to right. I stand on the pavement watching, drawn there by some irresistible force. Eagerly I search their faces, looking now for the horrid marks of the brute triumphant, gloating over hi
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CHAPTER XLI TRAITORS
CHAPTER XLI TRAITORS
And now I see people gathering round the Germans as they come to a halt at the end of the Avenue. I see people stroking the horses' heads, and old men and young men smiling and bowing, and a few minutes later, inside the restaurant of my hotel, I witness those extraordinary encounters between the Germans and their spies. I hear the clink of gold, and see the passing of big German notes, and I watch the flushed faces of Antwerp men who are holding note-books over the tables to the German officers
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CHAPTER XLII WHAT THE WAITING MAID SAW
CHAPTER XLII WHAT THE WAITING MAID SAW
At this point, I crept down stealthily into the kitchen and proceeded to disguise myself. I put on first of all a big blue-and-red check apron. Then I pinned a black shawl over my shoulders. I parted my hair in the middle and twisted it into a little tight knot at the back, and I tied a blue-and-white handkerchief under my chin. Looking thoroughly hideous I slipped back into the restaurant where I occupied myself with washing and drying glasses behind the counter. It was a splendid point of obse
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CHAPTER XLIII SATURDAY
CHAPTER XLIII SATURDAY
The saddest thing in Antwerp is the howling of the dogs. Thousands have been left shut in the houses when their owners fled, and all day and night these poor creatures utter piercing, desolate cries that grow louder and more piercing as time goes on. It is Saturday morning, October 10th. Strange things have happened. When I went to my door just now, I found it locked from the outside. I have tried the other door. That is locked, too. What does it mean, I wonder? Here I am in a little room about
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CHAPTER XLIV CAN I TRUST THEM?
CHAPTER XLIV CAN I TRUST THEM?
We entered a café. I shrank and clutched his arm. The place was full of Germans, but they were common soldiers these, not Officers. They were drinking beer and coffee at the little tables. "Take no notice of them!" whispered Henri. "You are all right! Trust me!" We walked through the Restaurant, Henri and I arm in arm, and the little girls clinging to our hands. They really played their parts amazingly, those little girls. "I have found my wife from Brussels," announced Henri in a loud voice to
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CHAPTER XLV A SAFE SHELTER
CHAPTER XLV A SAFE SHELTER
Next morning at ten o'clock, Lenore and I and the ever-faithful Henri (carrying my parrot, if you please!) and Ada strolled with affected nonchalance through the Antwerp streets where a pale gold sun was shining on the ruins. Germans were everywhere. Some were buying postcards, some sausages. Motor cars dashed in and out full of grey or blue uniforms. Fair, grave, sardonic faces were to be seen now, where only a few brief days ago there had been naught but Belgians' brave eyes, and lively, tende
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CHAPTER XLVI THE FLIGHT INTO HOLLAND
CHAPTER XLVI THE FLIGHT INTO HOLLAND
For five wild incredible days I remained in Antwerp, watching the German occupation; and then at last, I found my opportunity to escape over the borders into Holland. There came the great day when François managed to borrow a motor car and took me out through the Breda Gate to Putte in Holland. Good-bye to Ada, good-bye to Henri, good-bye to Lenore, Jeanette and la grandmère! I knew now that Madame X. could be trusted to the death. She had proved it in an unmistakable way. In my bag I had her Be
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CHAPTER XLVII FRIENDLY HOLLAND
CHAPTER XLVII FRIENDLY HOLLAND
Yesterday I was in Holland. To-day I am in England. But still in my ears I can hear the ring of scathing indignation in the voices of all those innumerable Dutch when I put point-blank to them the question that has been causing such unrest in Great Britain lately: "Are the Dutch helping Germany?" From every sort and condition of Dutchmen I received an emphatic "never!" The people of Holland would never permit it, and in Holland the people have an enormous voice. Nothing could have been more emph
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CHAPTER XLVIII FRENCH COOKING IN WAR TIME
CHAPTER XLVIII FRENCH COOKING IN WAR TIME
There is no more Belgium to go to. So I am in France now. But War-Correspondents are not wanted here. They are driven out wherever discovered. I shall not stay long. All my time is taken up in running about getting papers; my bag is getting out of shape; it bulges with the Laisser Passers, and Sauf Conduits that one has to fight so hard to get. However, to be among French-speaking people again is a great joy. And to-day in Dunkirk it has refreshed and consoled me greatly to see Madame Piers cook
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CHAPTER XLIX THE FIGHT IN THE AIR
CHAPTER XLIX THE FIGHT IN THE AIR
Next morning, Sunday, about half-past ten, I was walking joyfully on that long, beautiful beach at Dunkirk, with all the winds in the world in my face, and a golden sun shining dazzlingly over the blue skies into the deep blue sea-fields beneath. The rain had ceased. The peace of God was drifting down like a dove's wing over the tortured world. From the city of Dunkirk a mile beyond the Plage the chimes of Sabbath bells stole out soothingly, and little black-robed Frenchwomen passed with prayer
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CHAPTER L THE WAR BRIDE
CHAPTER L THE WAR BRIDE
The train went on. It was dark, quite dark, when I got out of it ac last, and looked about me blinking. This was right at the Front in Flanders, and a long cavalcade of French soldiers were alighting also. Two handsome elderly Turcos with splendid eyes, black beards, and strange, hard, warrior-like faces, passed, looking immensely distinguished as they mounted their arab horses, and rode off into the night, swathed in their white head-dresses, with their flowing picturesque cloaks spread out ove
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CHAPTER LI A LUCKY MEETING
CHAPTER LI A LUCKY MEETING
To meet some one you know at the Front is an experiment in psychology, deeply interesting, amusing sometimes, and often strangely illuminative. Indeed you never really know people till you meet them under the sound of guns. It is at Furnes that I meet accidentally a very eminent journalist and a very well-known author. Suddenly, up drives a funny old car with all its windows broken. Clatter, clatter, over the age-old cobbled streets of Furnes, and the car comes to a stop before the ancient littl
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CHAPTER LII THE RAVENING WOLF
CHAPTER LII THE RAVENING WOLF
How hard it must be for the soldiers to remember chat there ever was Summer! How far off, how unreal are those burning, breathless days that saw the fighting round Namur, Termonde, Antwerp. Here in Flanders, in December, August and September seem to belong to centuries gone by. Ugh! How cold it is! The wind howls up and down this long, white, snow-covered road, and away on either side, as far as the eyes can see, stretches wide flat Flanders country, white and glistening, with the red sun sinkin
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CHAPTER LIII BACK TO LONDON
CHAPTER LIII BACK TO LONDON
I am on my way back to London, grateful and glad to be once more on our side of the Channel. "Five days!" exclaims a young soldier in the train. He flings back his head, draws a deep breath, and remains staring like an imbecile at the roof of the railway carriage for quite two minutes. Then he shakes himself, draws another deep breath, and says again, still staring at the roof: "Five days!" The train has started now out into the night. We have left Folkestone well behind. We have pulled down all
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