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with different words to the air, be it said; and Haltet Aus!

Also, for variety, they sang Tannenbaum-with the same tune as Maryland, My Maryland!-and Heil dir im Siegerkranz; and snatches from various operas.

W

HEN BENNETT asked for Heine's Lorelei they sang not one verse of it, or two, but twenty or more; and then, by way of compliment to the guests of the evening, they reared up on their feet and gave us The Star-Spangled Banner, to German words. Suddenly two of them began dancing. In their big rawhide boots, with hobbled soles and steel-shod heels, they pounded back and forth, the others whooping them on.

One of the dancers gave out presently; but the other seemed still unimpaired in wind and limb. He darted into an adjoining room and came back in a minute dragging a half-frightened, half-pleased little Belgian scullery maid and whirled her about to waltz music until she dropped for want of breath to carry her another turn; after which he did a solo-Teutonic version-of a darky breakdown, stopping only to join in the next song.

It was eleven o'clock and they were still singing when we left them and went groping through dark hallways to the simple hay mattress that awaited us.

THROUGH A FIERY HELL

WITH THE RED CROSS [Three ambulances attached to the staff of the English hospital in Belgium set out October 21 for the firing-line under the command of Lieutenant de Broqueville, son of the Belgian war minister. Two automobiles accompanied them. In one of these was Philip Gibbs, a special correspondent of the London Chronicle and N. Y. Times. The vivid narrative below is from his pen.]

A

TA TURN in the road the battle lay before us, and we were in the zone of fire. Away across the fields was a line of villages with the town of Dixmude a little to the right of us, perhaps a mile and a quarter away. From each little town smoke was rising in separate columns which met at the top in a great black pall. At every moment this blackness was brightened by puffs of electric blue, extraordinarily vivid, as shells burst in the air. From the mass of houses in each town came jets of flame, following explosions which sounded with terrific thudding shocks. line of about nine miles there was an incessant cannonade. The farthest villages were already on fire.

On a

Quite close to us, only about half a mile across the fields to the left, there were Belgian batteries at work and rifle fire from many trenches. We were between two fires, and Belgian and German shells came screeching over heads. The German shells were dropping quite close to us, plowing up the fields with great pits. We could hear them burst and scatter and could see them burrow.

our

We went forward at what seemed to me a crawl, tho I think it was a fair pace, shells bursting around us now on

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IX

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all sides, while shrapnel bullets sprayed the earth about us. It appeared to me an odd thing that we were still alive. Then we came into Dixmude.

'HEN I saw it for the first and

W

last time it was a place of death and horror. The streets through which we passed were utterly deserted and wrecked from end to end, as tho by an earthquake. Incessant explosions of shell fire crashed down upon the walls, which still stood. Great gashes opened in the walls, which then toppled and fell. A roof came tumbling down with an appalling clatter. Like a house of cards blown by a puff of wind, a little shop suddenly collapsed into a mass of ruins. Here' and there, further into the town, we saw living figures. They ran swiftly for a moment, and then disappeared into dark caverns under toppling porticos. They were Belgian soldiers.

We were now in a side street leading into the Town Hall square. It seemed impossible to pass, owing to the wreckage strewn across the road. "Try to take it," said Dr. Munro, who was sitting beside the chauffeur. We took it, bumping over heaps of débris and then swept around into the square. It was a spacious place with the Town Hall at one side of it-or what was left of the Town Hall; there was only the splendid shell of it left, sufficient for us to see the skeleton of a noble building which had once been the pride of Flemish craftsnien. Even as we turned toward it parts of it were falling upon the ruins already on the ground. I saw a great pillar lean forward and then topple down. A mass of masonry crashed from the portico. Some stiff, dark forms lay among the fallen stones; they were dead soldiers. I hardly glanced at them, for we were in search of the living.

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UR cars were brought to a halt outside the building, and we all climbed down. I lighted a cigaret, and I noticed two of the other men fumble for matches for the same purpose. We wanted something to steady our nerves. There was never a moment when shell fire was not bursting in that square. Shrapnel bullets whipped the stones. The Germans were making a target of the Town Hall and dropping their shells with dreadful exactitude on either side of it.

I glanced toward the flaming furnace to the right of the building. There was a wonderful glow at the heart of it, yet it did not give me any warmth. At that moment Dr. Munro and Lieut. de Broqueville mounted the steps of the Town Hall, followed by Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett and myself. Mr. Gleeson was already taking down a stretcher; he had a little smile about his lips.

A French officer and two men stood under the broken archway of the entrance between the fallen pillars and masonry. A yard away from them lay a dead soldier, a handsome young man with clear-cut features turned upward to the

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gaping roof. A stream of blood was coagulating around his head, but did not touch the beauty of his face. Another dead man lay huddled up quite close, and his face was hidden.

"Are there any wounded here, Sir?" asked our young Lieutenant. The other officer spoke excitedly. He was a brave man, but he could not hide the terror in his soul, because he had been standing so long waiting for death, which stood beside him, but did not touch him. appeared from his words that there were several wounded men among the dead down in the cellar, and that he would be obliged to us if we could rescue them.

WE

It

E STOOD on some steps, looking down into that cellar. It was a dark hole, illumined dimly by a lantern, I think. I caught sight of a little heap of bodies. Two soldiers, still unwounded, dragged three of them out and handed them up to us. The work of getting those three men into the first ambulance seemed to us interminable; it was really no more than fifteen or twenty minutes.. I had lost consciousness of myself. Something outside myself, as it seemed, was saying that there was no way of escape; that it was monstrous to suppose that all these bursting shells would not smash the ambulance to bits and finish the agony of the wounded, and that death was very hideous. I remember thinking, also, how ridiculous it was for men to kill one another like this and to make such hells on earth.

Then Lieut. de Broqueville spoke a word of command; the first ambulance must now get back. I was with the first ambulance, in Mr. Gleeson's company. We had a full load of wounded men, and we were loitering. I put my head outside the cover and gave the word to the chauffeur. As I did so a shrapnel bullet came past my head, and, striking a piece of ironwork, flattened out and fell at my feet. I picked it up and put it in my pocket, tho God alone knows why, for I was not in search of souvenirs.

So we started with the first ambulance through those frightful streets again and out into the road to the country. . . . A little later we made a painful discovery: Lieut. de Broqueville, our gallant young leader, was missing. By some horrible mischance he had not taken his place in either of the ambulances or the motor cars. None of us had the least idea what had happened to him; we had all imagined that he had scrambled up like the rest of us, after giving the order to get

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had to come out without their car or had been wounded.

The German bombardment was now terrific. All the guns were concentrated upon Dixmude and the surrounding trenches. In the darkness under a stable wall I stood listening to the great crashes for an hour, when I had not expected such a lease of life. Inside the stable soldiers were sleeping in the straw, careless that at any moment a shell might burst through upon them. The hour seemed a night; then we saw the gleam of headlights, and an English voice called out.

Ashmead-Bartlett and Gleeson had come back. They had gone to the entrance to Dixmude, but could get no further, owing to the flames and shells. They, too, had waited for an hour, but had not found de Broqueville. It seemed certain that he was dead; and very sorrowfully we drove back to Furnes.

At the gate of the convent were some Belgian ambulances which had come from another part of the front with their wounded. I helped to carry one of them in, and strained my shoulders with the weight of the stretcher. Another wounded man put his arm around my neck, and then, with a dreadful cry, collapsed, so that I had to hold him in a strong grip. A third man, horribly smashed about the head, walked almost unaided into the operating room. Mr. Gleeson and I led him with just a touch on his arm. This morning he lies dead on a little pile of straw that has been placed in a quiet corner of the courtyard.

I sat down to a supper, which I had not expected to eat. There was a strange excitement in my body, which trembled a little after the day's adventures. It seemed very strange to be sitting down to table with cheerful faces about me. But some of the faces were not cheerful. Those of us who knew of the disappearance of de Broqueville sat silently over

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our soup.

Then suddenly Lady Dorothie Feilding gave a little cry of joy, and Lieut. de Broqueville came walking briskly for ward.

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THE LITTLE TOWN OF MONTIGNIES ST. CHRISTOPHE

[This is one of the stories told by Irvin S. Cobb, the American correspondent who followed for days in the wake of the German army, in its first triumphal dash through Belgium. Cobb and his companions came upon this little town about twenty-four hours after the Germans passed through. His description forms part of an article in the Saturday Evening Post.]

A

LMOST without warning we came on this little village called Montignies St. Christophe. A six-armed signboard at a crossroads told us its name-a rather impressive name ordinarily for a place of perhaps twenty houses, all told. But now tragedy had given it distinction; had painted that straggling frontier ham. let over with such colors that the picture of it is going to live in my memory as long as I do live.

At the upper end of the single street, like an outpost, stood an old château, the seat, no doubt, of the local gentry, with a small park of beeches and elms round it; and here, right at the park entrance, we had our first intimation that there had been a fight.

The gate stood ajar between its chipped stone pillars, and just inside the blue coat of a French cavalry officer, jaunty and

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As

SI think back it seems to me that not until that moment had it occurred to me to regard the cottages and shops beyond the clumped trees of the château grounds closely. We were desperately weary, to begin with, and our eyes, those past three days, had grown used to the signs of misery and waste and ruin, abundant and multiplying in the wake of the ironshod hard-pounding hoofs of the German conquerors.

Now, all of a sudden, I became aware that this town had been literally shot to. bits. From our side-that is to say, from the north and likewise from the westthe Germans had shelled it. From the south, plainly, the French had answered. The village, in between, had caught the full force and fury of the contending fires. Probably the inhabitants had warning; probably they fled when the German I skirmishers surprised that outpost of Frenchmen camping in the park.

One imagined them scurrying like rabbits across the fields and through the cabbage patches. But they had left their belongings behind, all their small petty gearings and garnishings, to be wrecked in the wrenching and rocking apart of their homes.

A railroad track emerged from the fields and ran along the one street. Shells had fallen on it and had exploded, ripping the steel rails from the crossties, so that they stood up all along in a jagged formation, like rows of snaggled teeth. Other shells, dropping in the road, had so wrought with the stone blocks that they were piled here in heaps, and there were

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