Only once did my laisser-passer fail me.  During the final days of the siege, when the temper and endurance of the Belgian defenders were strained almost to the breaking-point, I motored out to witness the German assault on the forts near Willebroeck.  With me were Captain Raymond Briggs of the United States army and Thompson.  Before continuing to the front we took the precaution of stopping at division headquarters in Boom and asking if there was any objection to our proceeding; we were informed that there was none.  We had not been on the firing-line half an hour, however, before two gendarmes came tearing up in a motor-car and informed us that we were under arrest and must return with them to Boom.  At division headquarters we were interrogated by a staff major whose temper was as fiery as his hair.  Thompson, as was his invariable custom, was smoking a very large and very black cigar.

“Take that cigar out of your mouth!” snapped the major in French.  “How dare you smoke in my presence?”

“Sorry, major,” said Thompson, grinning broadly, “but you’ll have to talk American.  I don’t understand French.”

“Stop smiling!” roared the now infuriated officer.  “How dare you smile when I address you?  This is no time for smiling, sir!  This is a time of war!”

Though the major was reluctantly forced to admit that our papers were in order, we were nevertheless sent to staff headquarters in Antwerp guarded by two gendarmes, one of whom was the bearer of a dossier in which it was gravely recited that Captain Briggs and I had been arrested while in the company of a person calling himself Donald Thompson, who was charged by the chief of staff with having smiled and smoked a cigar in his presence.  Needless to say, the whole opera-bouffe affair was promptly disavowed by the higher authorities.  I have mentioned the incident because it was the sole occasion on which I met with so much as a shadow of discourtesy from any Belgian, either soldier or civilian.  I doubt if in any other country in the world in time of war, a foreigner would have been permitted to go where and when he pleased, as I was, and would have met with hospitality and kindness from every one.

The citizens of Antwerp hated the Germans with a deeper and more bitter hatred, if such a thing were possible, than the people of any other part of Belgium.  This was due to the fact that in no foreign city where Germans dwelt and did business were they treated with such marked hospitality and consideration as in Antwerp.  They had been given franchises and concessions and privileges of every description; they had been showered with honours and decorations; they were welcome guests on every occasion; city streets had been named after leading German residents; time and time again, both at private dinners and public banquets, they had asserted, wineglass in hand, their loyalty and devotion to the city which was their home.  Yet, the moment opportunity