ed all
responsibility. Properly speaking, our ambulances were not supposed to
go nearer than a certain safe distance from the enemy's firing-line. For
two reasons. First, it stood the chance of being shelled or taken
prisoner. Second, there was a very natural fear that it might draw down
the enemy's fire on the Belgians. Our huge, lumbering cars, with their
brand-new khaki hoods and flaming red crosses on a white ground, were an
admirable mark for German guns. But as the Corps in this case went into
the firing-line on foot, I do not think that the risk was to the
Belgians. So, though in theory we stopped outside the barriers, in
practice we invariably got through.

The new car was stopped at the barrier now by the usual Belgian Army
Medical Officer. We were not to go on to Melle.

I said that we had orders to go on to Melle; and I meant to go on to
Melle. The Medical Officer said again that we were not to go, and I said
again that we were going.

Then that Belgian Army Medical Officer began to tell us what I imagine
is the usual barrier tale.

There were any amount of ambulances at Melle.

There were no wounded at Melle.

And in any case this ambulance wouldn't be allowed to go there. And then
the usual battle of the barrier had place.

It was one against three. For M. C---- went over to the enemy, and the
chauffeur Newlands, confronted by two official adversaries in uniform,
became deafer and deafer to my voice in his right ear.

First, the noble and chivalrous Belgian Red Cross guide, with an
appalling treachery, gave the order to turn the car round to Ghent. I
gave the counter order. Newlands wavered for one heroic moment; then he
turned the car round.

I jumped out and went up to the Army Medical Officer and delivered a
frontal attack, discharging execrable French.

"No wounded? You tell us that tale every day, and there are always
wounded. Do you want any more of them to die? I mean to go on and I
shall go on."

I didn't ask him how he thought he could stop one whom Heaven had
predestined to go on to Melle.

M. C---- had got out now to see the fight.

The Army Medical Officer looked the Secretary and Reporter up and down,
taking in that vision of inappropriateness and disproportion. There was
a faint, a very faint smile under the ferocity of his moustache, the
first sign of relenting. The Secretary and Reporter saw the advantage
and followed, as you might follow a bend in the enemy's line of
defen