makes one feel at times that these battles are shams and
unavailing. This is depressing. It is thrilling, then, suddenly to
acquire the glamorous title of war-correspondent, and to have
before one the prospect of real and actual battles.

Commissioned thus and desiring to live up to the code and
requirement of the office, I naturally opined that war-
correspondents rushed immediately into the thick of the fight. Later
I discovered what a mistake that was. Only very young and green
ones do so. The seasoned correspondent is inclined to view the
whole affair more dispassionately and with a larger perspective.
But being of the verdant variety, I naturally figured that if the
Germans were smashing down through Belgium onto Liege that
that was where I should be. By entering gingerly through the back
door of Holland, I planned to join them in their march down the
Meuse River.

To The Hague came descriptions of the hordes pressing down out
of the north through the fire-swept, blood-drenched plain of
northern Belgium. This could be seen from the Dutch frontier at
Maastricht. But passage thereto was interdicted by the military
authorities. Ambassador Van Dyke's efforts were unavailing.
Possessing a red-card, I enlisted the help of Troelstra, the socialist
leader of the Netherlands.

He had just returned from an audience with the Queen. The
government, seeking to rally all classes to face a grave crisis, was
paying court to the labor leaders. Accordingly, the war department,
at Troelstra's behest, received me with a handsome show of
deference. I was escorted from one gold-laced officer to another.