lemen went about their jobs of life and death with
the same detached coolness as if their hunters were being saddled,
or they were waiting for the referee's whistle in Rugby football. Their
attitude was infernally exasperating; yet you couldn't help taking off
your hat to their sublime nerve and indifference.

I overheard a typical remark when matters were in this critical state. It
came from a handsome, curly-headed officer, noticeable not only for
his apparent efficiency, but because he didn't let the game of war
interfere with his attentions to the little Princess de Ligne. The latter
was nursing her brother, who had been shot through the back of the
neck during a raid through German lines. She was a princess in rank,
and a queen in looks. Thirty hours before the first shell burst into the
Place Verte--Monday morning, it was--this fellow rapped at my
door. He had wandered into the wrong pew, for his words were
obviously intended to hurry up a brother officer with whom he was to
take the morning ride to the firing line. Sticking his curly, sunburnt
head around the corner he drawled in inimitable British intonation:-

"I say, old chap, do hurry along; this is no ORDINARY occasion, you
know."

In the Royal Belgian Palace there happened a few hours before the
bombardment an incident revealing the simplicity and kindliness of
King Albert's character. In connection with it, it is necessary to speak
of Harold Fowler, a New Yorker and Columbia College graduate, who
helped to save the public buildings of Antwerp, and later entered the
Allied ranks as a fighter. When the war broke out, Fowler was private
secretary to Ambassador Page in London. In November he got a commission
in the Royal Horse Guards, known as the "Blues." While the Germans were
pressing hard on Antwerp, the German commander, as I have mentioned
elsewhere, asked that a diagram of the city of Antwerp, with plans and
location of the cathedral, the Hotel de Ville, and the more important
works be sent to him in order that he might find the range and avoid
firing on them. Neutrals were to carry the plans through; and Fowler
and Hugh Gibson, secretary to the American Minister at Brussels (Brand
Whitlock), volunteered.

Two days before the bombardment Gibson went to the Royal Palace
at Antwerp where General de Guise and his staff were in conference.
Fowler trailed along, but, not liking to enter, walked up and down the
hallway, hands in his pockets, ad