movements of troops or news of military value could leak out.

"Ah, I see," said the commissioner who could not talk English. "An
amateur correspondent and a slow correspondent. But correspondents are
not at all tolerated in this province. It is five o'clock. You will
board the train leaving this province at 5.16 P.M."

From Maastricht to the Dutch capital is, under usual conditions, a
four-hour run to the north. During this trip we passed encampments
and fortifications of the 400,000 well-drilled but poorly equipped
troops which the Kingdom of the Netherlands, in the spirit of no
negative neutrality, had mobilized along her borders. Whenever we
crossed a bridge every window in the entire train was fastened down
and there were strict orders against raising them. We discovered that
under the boulders were carefully concealed large charges of
dynamite ready for immediate use in case of invasion--so that
Horatius need not be called upon while axe and crowbar were at
work. The windows, it appears, were locked to prevent throwing out of
lighted cigars or matches.

At one o'clock the next morning our train, delayed by war-time traffic,
rolled into the Hague station, whence three days later, I was to start
my lucky trip into Antwerp, the besieged.

Clog dancing and cognac helped to get me from The Hague back
into Antwerp in time for its bombardment and capture by the German
forces under General von Beseler. I happened to perform the clog
dancing at a critical moment during a trip on a Scheldt River barge,
thus diverting the attention of the river sentries from my lack of proper
papers. While the pedal acrobatics were in progress my temporary
friend, Mons. le Conducteur, reinforced the already genial pickets with
many glasses of the warming fluid.

Willard Luther, my companion in and out of jail during the first part of
the continental wanderings, was forced to leave for home the day
after we got back to The Hague. He had five days to catch the
Lusitania at Liverpool. Three of them he spent on a whirlwind trip
trying to see action in northern Flanders, but, much to his
disappointment, was called away before the final scrimmage at
Antwerp. If he had succeeded in getting in, I rather fear the
Massachusetts Bar would have lost a valuable member. He had an
insatiable passion to be in the neighborhood of bullets and bombs--
not, as I take it, that he really wanted to get hit--merely that he
would like to see ho