e held at Louvain, which had now ceased to be
Belgian Headquarters.

How little you knew and how much they knew! The sight of them was
helpful. One was the representative of a force of millions of
Frenchman; of the army. I had always believed in the French army,
and have more reason now than ever to believe in it. There was no
doubt that if a French corps and a German corps were set the task of
marching a hundred miles to a strategic position, the French would
arrive first and win the day in a pitched battle. But no one knew this
better than that German Staff whose superiority, as von Moltke said,
would always ensure victory. Was the French army ready? Could it
bring the fullness of its strength into the first and perhaps the deciding
shock of arms? Where was the French army?

The other officer who came out of the Hotel de Ville was the
representative of a little army--a handful of regulars--hard as nails and
ready to the last button. Where was the British army? The restaurant
keeper where we had luncheon at Louvain--he knew. He whispered
his military secret to me. The British army was toward Antwerp,
waiting to crush the Germans in the flank should they advance on
Brussels. We were "drawing them on!" Most cheerful, most confident,
mine host! When I went back to Louvain under German rule his
restaurant was in ruins.

We were on our way to as near the front as we would go, with a pass
which was written for us by a Belgian reservist in Brussels between
sips of beer brought him by a boy scout. It was a unique, a most
accommodating pass; the only one I have received from the Allies'
side which would have taken me into the German lines.

The front which we saw was in the square of the little town of Haelen,
where some dogs of a dog machine-gun battery lay panting in their
traces. A Belgian officer in command there I recollect for his
passionate repetition of, "Assassins! The barbarians!" which seemed
to choke out any other words whenever he spoke of the Germans.
His was a fresh, livid hate, born of recent fighting. We could go where
we pleased, he said; and the Germans were "out there," not far away.
Very tired he was, except for the flash of hate in his eyes; as tired as
the dogs of the machine-gun battery.

We went outside to see the scene of "the battle," as it was called in
the dispatches; a field in the first flush of the war, where the headless
lances of Belgian and German cavalrymen were still scattered about.