“Revanche!” he exclaimed dramatically; “our enemies have paid for it in blood!”

Sure enough, after a few preliminary shells—­a sort of here-we-come salvo—­the head of the German column had entered, and a party of staff officers, for purposes of reconnaissance, immediately mounted the spire of the only remaining church.  The officers of the Ninth German Army Corps swept the landscape with their glasses, but the level plains gave nothing to their sight.  They saw only the ashes of Termonde, the river, and the straight stretch of sandy roads and stucco hamlets beyond.

They did not notice a valley of covered ground and a quarter-mile stretch of trees and shrubbery, where three squads of Belgian field artillery were neatly hidden.  Here the men took cover at the first sound of cannonade.  Quietly in their retreat the Belgian artillery officers had figured the range and elevation of the cathedral tower, not over fifteen hundred yards away.  Just as darkness was setting in and the figures in the belfry were clearly visible, the battery sergeant sharply dropped his arm.

“C-r-r-m-p-h!” coughed the field pieces as the gunners drew the levers home.  There were four sharp reports, four flashes of flame and smoke, the crescendo moan of tons of flying steel—­and the church tower, the bells, and the German officers came crashing to the ground.

Chapter III

Captive

Up to the day that Luther and I went through the Belgian trenches near Alost and got into the hands of the German outposts north of Brussels, we had not seen nearly as much fighting as we wished.  We had looked upon the ear-marks and horrible results of battles; had heard guns, smelt the blood and ether of wounded, and seen the ruins over which had rolled the wave of battle.  We knew that ahead of us there had been much fighting in the Sempst-Alost-Vilvorde-Tirlemont region.  The Germans at that moment, if not actually advancing toward Antwerp, were skirmishing and making feints in every direction, with the ultimate disposition of their forces carefully concealed.  Of course, we had no official permission to be at the front with either army; in fact, up to that point we had received nothing but official threats on the subject of what would happen to us in case we went ahead.  But as no one did more than threaten, we kept on going, since we preferred that mode of procedure to sitting around in Paris or Berlin on the chance of one of those “personally conducted” tours of inspection, whose purpose is to show the correspondent everything except actual fighting.  It was our hope during that early part of the war to see as much as possible of the German army, realizing that, if captured, we should undoubtedly be sent either backward or forward along the German line of communication in conquered Belgium.  Once within the German outposts we pleaded like Brer Rabbit not to be thrown into the German brier patch.  So of course we landed in it.  After a few days in Brussels they shipped us Eastward to Aix-la-Chapelle by way of Lou-vain, Tirlemont, and Liege.