ry gray geyser to hang for an
instant above the green eddies of the Meuse. A certain village along
this highway was the focal point of the firing. Many of the houses had
been blown to pieces, and fragments of red tile, bits of shiny glass,
and lumps of masonry were strewn all over the deserted street.

As I hurried along, two shells came over, one sliding into the river
with a Hip! and the other landing in a house about two hundred yards
away. A vast cloud of grayish-black smoke befogged the cottage, and a
section of splintered timber came buzzing through the air and fell into
a puddle. From the house next to the one struck, a black cat came
slinking, paused for an indecisive second in the middle of the street,
and ran back again. Through the canvas partition of the ambulance, I
heard the voices of my convalescents. "No more marmites!" I cried to
them as I swung down a road out of shell reach. I little knew what was
waiting for us beyond the next village.

A regiment of Zouaves going up to the line was resting at the crossroad,
and the regimental wagons, drawn up in waiting line, blocked the narrow
road completely. At the angle between the two highways, under the four
trees planted by pious custom of the Meuse, stood a cross of thick
planks. From each arm of the cross, on wine-soaked straps, dangled, like
a bunch of grapes, a cluster of dark-blue canteens; rifles were stacked
round its base, and under the trees stood half a dozen clipped-headed,
bull-necked Zouaves. A rather rough-looking adjutant, with a bullet head
disfigured by a frightful scar at the corner of his mouth, rode up and
down the line to see if all was well. Little groups were handing round a
half loaf of army bread, and washing it down with gulps of wine.

"Hello, sport!" they cried at me; and the favorite "All right," and
"Tommy!"

The air was heavy with the musty smell of street mud that never dries
during winter time, mixed with the odor of the tired horses, who stood,
scarcely moving, backed away from their harnesses against the
mire-gripped wagons. Suddenly the order to go on again was given; the
carters snapped their whips, the horses pulled, the noisy, lumbering,
creaky line moved on, and the men fell in behind, in any order.

I started my car again and looked for an opening through the melee.

Beyond the cross, the road narrowed and flanked one of the southeastern
forts of the city. A meadow, which sloped gently upward from the road to
the