s the telegraph?"

The Englishman, red in the face and dripping with perspiration,
waved his hand spasmodically.

"The military are using it; you'll have to wait until four
o'clock. Are you with us in this scrimmage? The fellows are down
by the Hotel Post trying to mend the wires there. Archibald
Grahame is with the Germans!"

Jack turned in his saddle with a friendly gesture of thanks and
adieu. If he were going to send his despatch, he had no time to
waste in Saarbrueck--he understood that at a glance. For a moment
he thought of going to the Hotel Post and taking his chances with
his brother correspondents; then, abruptly wheeling his horse, he
trotted out into the long shed that formed one of an interminable
series of coal shelters, passed through it, gained the outer
street, touched up his horse, and tore away, headed straight for
Forbach. For he had decided that at Forbach was his chance to
beat the other correspondents, and he took the chance, knowing
that in case the telegraph there was also occupied he could still
get back to Morteyn, and from there to Saint-Lys, before the
others had wired to their respective journals.

It was three o'clock when he clattered into the single street of
Forbach amid the blowing of bugles from a cuirassier regiment
that was just leaving at a trot. The streets were thronged with
gendarmes and cavalry of all arms, lancers in baggy, scarlet
trousers and clumsy schapskas weighted with gold cord, chasseurs
a cheval in turquoise blue and silver, dragoons, Spahis,
remount-troopers, and here and there a huge rider of the
Hundred-Guards, glittering like a scaled dragon in his splendid
armour.

He pushed his way past the Hotel Post and into the garden, where,
at a table, an old general sat reading letters.

With a hasty glance at him, Jack bowed, and asked permission to
take the unoccupied chair and use the table. The officer inclined
his head with a peculiarly graceful movement, and, without more
ado, Jack sat down, placed his pad flat on the table, and wrote
his despatch in pencil:

"FORBACH, 2d August, 1870.

"The first shot of the war was fired this morning at ten
o'clock. At that hour the French opened on Saarbrueck
with twenty-three pieces of artillery. The bombardment
continued until twelve. At two o'clock the Germans,
having evacuated Saarbrueck, retreated across the Saar to
Saint-Johann. The latter village is also now being
evacuated; th