me of the men were moaning as they marched along, but most
of them were taking it with the tragic oxlike resignation of the
peasant, stupefied more than terrified, puzzled why these soldiers
were coming down into their quiet little villages to fight out their
quarrels. The women were crying out to Mary and all the saints.
Indeed all the little crosses along the waysides or in the walls were
decked with flowers in gratitude for what had been spared them. In
most cases it was little more than their lives, their brood of
children, and their dogs that followed on.

My driver finally landed me in a shack on the outskirts of Eysden,
which boasted the name of a hotel. It had the worst bed I ever
slept in, and the only window was a hole in the roof.

I wandered out among the unfortunates, now herded in halls and
schools and packed in the homes of the friendly villagers. They
were full of the weirdest tales of loot and murder. And while there
were no tears in their eyes there was tragedy in their voices.

"It would be worth while getting over to the sources and verifying
the truth of these stories," I remarked.

"A sheer impossibility, and only a fool would want to go," was one
laconic commentary.

I kept up my plaint and was overheard by Souten, head of the
Limbourg police.

"American, aren't you?" he interjected. "Well, I have done more
work here in the last five days than I did in the five years that I lived
in New York. Had the best time in my life there. If you want to go
sight-seeing in Belgium, take this paper and get it countersigned at
the German consulate. It's the only one I've given out to-day."

I hurried off to the consul who, in return for six marks, duly
impressed it with the German seal. Later on I would gladly have
given six hundred marks to disown it.

"Of course you understand that this is simply a paper issued by
the civil authorities," said the consul, as he passed it out. "Use it at
your own risk. If you go ahead and get shot by the military
authorities, don't come back and blame us."

I promised that I wouldn't and was off again to my hotel.

As darkness deepened, with two Hollanders come to view the
havoc of war, I sat on the stoop of our little inn. A great rumbling of
cannon came from the direction of Tongres. A sentry shot rang out
on the frontier just across the river which flowed not ten rods away.
This was the Meuse, which ran red with the blood of the
combatants, and from which the na