An hour later the Telegraaf III took the river's turn, swinging past Fort
St. Philippe, until we could see the gray-blue spire of the Cathedral of
Notre Dame with its intricate network of stone silhouetted against the
autumn sunset. Mr. Diederick was not at the pier to meet me, nor was
there a military passport from General de Guise.

"Stay by me," said Alderman Albrecht. As each of the pier sentries
saluted him he said a whispered word, and apparently his word was
good, for the American "foot game" artist was allowed to pass.
Perhaps Alderman Albrecht had decided that German spies don't
clog-dance.

Though not officially admitted to the besieged city, I went at once to
my old stand, the Hotel St. Antoine, now converted into British Staff
Headquarters. At sundown a mist crept up from the river, and through
it we heard a roar of welcome and the rumble of heavy artillery.
Charging down the Avenue de Keyser came a hundred London
motor-busses, Piccadilly signs and all, some filled, some half-filled,
with a wet-looking bunch of Tommies, followed by armored
mitrailleuses, a few 6.7 naval guns, officers' machines, commissary
and ammunition carriages--the first brigade of Winston Churchill's
army of relief, which for five days was destined to make so valiant,
but so short, a fight against the overwhelming German army.




Chapter V