These interruptions were getting to be distressingly frequent.  I had journeyed but a few hundred yards farther when a surly fellow sprang out from behind a wagon and in a raucous voice bade me “Stand by.”  He had an evil glint in his eye, and was ready to go out of his way hunting trouble.  Totally dissatisfied with any answer I could make, he kept roaring louder and louder.  There was no doubt that he was venting his spleen upon an unprotected and humble civilian, and that he was thoroughly enjoying seeing me cringe under his bulldozing.  It flashed upon me that he might be a self-appointed guardian of the way.  So when he began to wax still more arrogant, I simply said, “Take me to your superior officer.”

He softened down like a child, and, standing aside, motioned me along.

I would put nothing past a bully of that stripe.  He was capable of committing any kind of an atrocity.  And his sort undoubtedly did.  But what else can one expect from a conscript army, which, as it puts every man on its roster, must necessarily contain the worst as well as the best?  Draft 1,000 men out of any community in any country and along with the decent citizens there will be a certain number of cowards, braggarts and brutes.  When occasion offers they will rob, rape and murder.  To such a vicious strain this fellow belonged.

The soldier whom next I encountered is really typical of the Gemutlichheit of the men who, on the 20th of August, were encamped along the Meuse River.  I was moving along fast now under the cover of a hedge which paralleled the road when a voice called out “Halt!” In a step or two I came to a stop.  A large fellow climbed over the hedge, and, coming on the road, fell, or rather stumbled over himself, into the ditch.  I was afraid he was drunk, and that this tumble would add vexation to his spirits; but he was only tired and over-weighted, carrying a big knapsack and a gun, a number of articles girdled around his waist, along with too much avoirdupois.  It seems that even in this conquered territory the Germans never relaxed their vigilance.  Fully a thousand men stood guarding the pontoon bridge, and this man, who had gone out foraging and was returning with a bottle of milk, carried his full fighting equipment with him, as did all the others.  I gave him a hand and pulled him to his feet, offering to help carry something, as he was breathing heavily; but he refused my aid.  As we walked along together I gave him my last stick of chocolate, and, being assured by my demeanor that I was a friend, he showed a real kindly, fatherly interest in me.

“A bunch of robbers, that’s what these Belgians are,” he asserted stoutly.  “They charged me a mark for a quart of milk.”

I put my question of the morning to him:  “Is it dangerous traveling along here so late?” His answer was anything but reassuring.  “Yes, it is very dangerous.”

Then he explained that one of his comrades had been shot by a Belgian from the bluffs above that very afternoon and that the men were all very angry.  All the Belgians had taken to cover, for the road was totally cleared of pedestrians from this place on to Mouland.