he roads our soldiers were moving and the guns
of the Allies were filling the air with thunder. In the intervals one
could hear the spitting of quick-firers and the lesser chorus of rifle
fire. Just ahead on a little bridge were a few soldiers of the engineer
corps busily at work under the direction of a Lieutenant.

Suddenly I saw them fall flat on the ground. At the same moment a shell
whistled over their heads and buried itself in the canal bank only forty
yards from us.

"Shelter your machine behind the house," shouted the Lieutenant, and the
chauffeur did not want a second telling. He backed the truck a few yards
to place it against a house opposite the bridge at the corner of the
road from Ramscapelle.

I left the truck and stood with some soldiers close against the wall. In
five minutes fifteen shells fell within a radius of 100 yards of the
bridge, but not one struck the bridge itself. We could hear them come
shrieking toward us, and the only comment of the soldiers each time was
"Here comes another."

We passed over the bridge and advanced along the canal bank in the
direction of the Germans. As we approached the trenches near the Dixmude
railway bridge we were able to survey the plain of St. Georges, which is
now completely under water. For a moment the firing between the trenches
had ceased, and we were able to take a leisurely view of the scene from
the height of the bridge over an area half a mile square. The water is
three feet deep, and in the centre of the lake stands a farmhouse
surrounded by trees. French and Belgian soldiers had crossed the water,
advancing under the protection of artillery fire, and had captured the
houses standing on the far side.

Returning to our motor, we quickly reached Nieuport. The aspect of the
place was strange. The houses, as in all ancient fortified towns, press
closely one against another. The streets, however, are wide and regular.
They were as empty as the streets of a dead city. In the roofs of the
houses were large holes. Windows and doors had been destroyed, and
blinds and curtains were floating out on the wind.

To my great surprise I learned that four or five houses were still
occupied. About twenty inhabitants, I was told, were still living in
their cellars after the two months' bombardment. The soldiers did what
they could to feed these people, who said that rather than leave their
homes they would perish in the ruins. The rest of the inhabitants, about
4,