suddenly loomed up
on our right in the shape of a great gas-bag which we at first took
to be a Zeppelin. It proved to be a stationary balloon which was
acting as the eye of the artillery. It was signaling the range to the
German gunners beneath, who were pounding away at the Belgians.
In our excitement over the spectacle, we went plunging across fields
until we gained a good view of the great swaying thing, tugging away
at the slender filament of rope which bound it to the earth.

Sinking down into the grass, we were so intent upon the sharp
electric signaling as to be oblivious to aught else, until a voice rang
a harsh challenge from behind. Jumping to our feet, we faced a
squad of German soldiers and an officer who said:

"What are you doing here?"

"Came out to see the big balloon," we somewhat naively informed
him.

"Very good!" he said. And then, quite as if he were rewarding our
manifest zeal for exploration, he added, "Come along with me and
you can see the big commandant, too."

Three soldiers ahead and three behind, we were escorted down
the railroad track in silence until we began to pass some cars filled
with the recently wounded in a fearfully shot-to-pieces state. Some
one mumbled "Englishmen!" and the whole crowd, bandaged and
bleeding as they were, rose to the occasion and greeted us with
derisive shouts.

"Put the blackguards to work," growled one.

"No! Kill the damn spies!" shouted another, as he pulled himself
out of the straw, "kill them!"

A huge fellow almost wild from his wounds bellowed out: "Why
don't you stick your bayonet into the cursed Englishmen?" No
doubt it would have eased his pain a bit to see us getting a taste of
the same thing he was suffering.

Our officer, as if to make concessions to this hue and cry, growled
harshly: "Don't look around! Damn you! and take your hands out of
your pockets!"

We heaved sighs of relief as we left this place of pain and hate
behind. But a new terror took hold of us as a turn in the track
brought our destination into view. It was the staff headquarters in
which, two hours before, the commandant had ordered us to make
direct return to Brussels.

"Wait here," said the officer as he walked inside.

We stood there trying to appear unconcerned while we cursed the
exploring bent in our constitutions, and mentally composed
farewell letters to the folks at home.

But luck does sometimes light upon the banners of the daring. It
seems that in