VI.  On The Belgian Battle-Line

In writing of the battles in Belgium I find myself at a loss as to what names to give them.  After the treaty-makers have affixed their signatures to a piece of parchment and the arm-chair historians have settled down to the task of writing a connected account of the campaign, the various engagements will doubtless be properly classified and labelled—­and under the names which they will receive in the histories we, who were present at them, will probably not recognize them at all.  Until such time, then, as history has granted them the justice of perspective, I can only refer to them as “the fight at Sempst” or “the first engagement at Alost” or “the battle of Vilvorde” or “the taking of Termonde.”  Not only this, but the engagements that seemed to us to be battles, or remarkably lifelike imitations of battles, may be dismissed by the historians as unimportant skirmishes and contacts, while those engagements that we carelessly referred to at the time as “scraps” may well prove, in the light of future events, to have been of far greater significance than we realized.  I don’t even know how many engagements I witnessed, for I did not take the trouble to keep count.  Thompson, who was with me from the beginning of the campaign to the end, told a reporter who interviewed him upon his return to London that we had been present at thirty-two engagements, large and small.  Though I do not vouch, mind you, for the accuracy of this assertion, it is not as improbable as it sounds, for, from the middle of August to the fall of Antwerp in the early part of October, it was a poor day that didn’t produce a fight of some sort.  The fighting in Belgium at this stage of the war may be said to have been confined to an area within a triangle whose corners were Antwerp, Aerschot and Termonde.  The southern side of this triangle, which ran somewhat to the south of Malines, was nearly forty miles in length, and it was this forty-mile front, extending from Aerschot on the east to Termonde on the west, which, during the earlier stages of the campaign, formed the Belgian battle-line.  As the campaign progressed and the Germans developed their offensive, the Belgians were slowly forced back within the converging sides of the triangle until they were squeezed into the angle formed by Antwerp, where they made their last stand.

The theatre of operations was, from the standpoint of a professional onlooker like myself, very inconsiderately arranged.  Nature had provided neither orchestra-stalls nor boxes.  All the seats were bad.  In fact it was quite impossible to obtain a good view of the stage and of the uniformed actors who were presenting the most stupendous spectacle in all history upon it.  The whole region, you see, was absolutely flat—­as flat as the top of a table—­and there wasn’t anything even remotely resembling a hill anywhere.  To make matters worse, the country