Left to himself, each man let his most pessimistic thoughts drag
his spirits down. Gloom is contagious, and it soon became as
heavy in the room as the gray clouds of smoke. The one bright,
hopeful spot was the lone woman prisoner. She alone refused to
succumb to the depressing atmosphere, and sought to play
woman's ancient role of comforter. She tried to smile, and
succeeded admirably, for she was very pretty. A wretched-looking
lad huddled up on a bag in the corner tried to reciprocate, but with
the tears glistening in his eyes he made a sorry failure of it. We
were a hard crowd to smile to, and growing tired of her attempts to
appear light-hearted, she at last gave herself up to her own
grievances, and soon was looking quite as doleful as the rest of
us. Our gloom was thrown into sharp relief by a number of soldiers
grouped around a table in the corner laughing and shouting over a
game of cards which they were playing for small stakes. We
dragged out the long afternoon staring doggedly at the bayonets of
our guards.

Only once did the guards show any awareness of our existence.
That was when suddenly the arrival of "Herr Major" was announced.
As the door was opened to let him pass through our hall to the stairway,
with a hoarse shout we were ordered to our feet. As his exalted
personage paraded by we stood, hats in hand, with bared heads,
with such humble and respectful expression as may be outwardly
assumed towards a fellow-being whom all secretly despised or
desired to kill. Was there really a murderous gleam in the averted
eyes of those Belgians arrayed in salute before the Herr Major, or
was it my imagination that put it there? Perhaps you can tell.

Picture your country devastated, your towns burned, your flag