enjoy the sight of other soldiers fighting, even if they themselves
were denied that excitement. Our question to them was always
the same, "Where are the Germans?"

Out of the conflicting reports it was hard to tell whether the
Germans were heading this way or not. That they were expected
was shown by the sign-posts whose directions had just been
obliterated by fresh paint--a rather futile operation, because the
Germans had better maps and plans of the region than the
Belgians themselves, maps which showed every by-path, well and
barn. The chauffeur's brother had been shot in his car by the
Germans but a week before, and he didn't relish the idea of thus
flaunting the enemy's flag along a road where some German
scouting party might appear at any moment. The Union Jack had
done good service in getting us easy passage so far, but the driver
was not keen for going further with it.

It was proposed to turn the car around and back it down the road,
as had been done the previous day. Thus the car would be
headed in the home direction, and at sight of the dreaded uniform
we could make a quick leap for safety. At this juncture, however, I
produced a small Stars and Stripes, which the chauffeur hailed
with delight, and we continued our journey now under the aegis of
a neutral flag.

It might have secured temporary safety, but only temporary; for if
the Englishmen with only British passports had fallen into the
hands of the Germans, like their unfortunate kinsmen who did
venture too far into the war zone, they, too, would have had a
chance to cool their ardor in some detention-camp of Germany.