had supposed the German columns were many kilometers away. A brush
between skirmishers was the best we had counted on seeing.

Right here we parted from our taxi driver. He made it plain to us,
partly by words and partly by signs, that he personally was not looking
for any war. Plainly he was one who specialized in peace and the
pursuits of peace. Not even the proffered bribe of a doubled or a
tripled fare availed to move him one rod toward those smoke clouds. He
turned his car round so that it faced toward Brussels, and there he
agreed to stay, caring for our light overcoats, until we should return
to him. I wonder how long he really did stay.

And I have wondered, in idle moments since, what he did with our
overcoats. Maybe he fled with the automobile containing two English
moving-picture operators which passed us at that moment, and from which
floated back a shouted warning that the Germans were coming. Maybe he
stayed too long and was gobbled up--but I doubt it. He had an instinct
for safety.

As we went forward afoot the sound of the firing grew clearer and more
distinct. We could now hear quite plainly the grunting belch of the big
pieces and, in between, the chattering voice of rapid-fire guns. Long-
extended, stammering, staccato sounds, which we took to mean rifle
firing, came to our ears also. Among ourselves we decided that the
white smoke came from the guns and the black from burning buildings or
hay ricks. Also we agreed that the fighting was going on beyond the
spires and chimneys of a village on the crest of the hill immediately
ahead of us. We could make out a white church and, on past it, lines of
gray stone cottages.