This cheerful prospect was in the mind of these men, for, when we
espied coming around a distant corner two gray-looking men on
horseback, they turned white as the chauffeur cried, "Uhlans!"

It is a question whether the car or our hearts came to a dead
standstill first. Our shock was unnecessary. They proved to be
Belgians, and assured us that the road was clear all the way to
Termonde; and, except for an occasional peasant tilling his fields,
the country-side was quite deserted until at Grembergen we came
upon an unending procession of refugees streaming down the
road. They were all coming out of Termonde. Termonde, after
being taken and retaken, bombarded and burned, was for the
moment neutral territory. A Belgian commandant had allowed the
refugees that morning to return and gather what they might from
among the ruins.

In the early morning, then, they had gone into the city, and now at
high noon they were pouring out, a great procession of the
dispossessed. They came tracking their way to where--God only
knows. All they knew was that in their hearts was set the fear of
Uhlans, and in the sky the smoke and flames of their burning
homesteads. They came laden with their lares and penates,--
mainly dogs, feather beds, and crayon portraits of their ancestors.

Women came carrying on their heads packs which looked like
their entire household paraphernalia. The men were more
unassuming, and, as a rule, carried a package considerably lighter
and comporting more with their superior masculine dignity. I recall
one little woman in particular. She was bearing a burden heavy
enough to send a strong American athlete staggering down to the