He wanted to know who the devil I was, not liking
my civilian clothes and suspecting a German spy. But he became
sympathetic when I told him, quite dishonestly, that I was in charge of
a British field ambulance under the Belgian Government, which had
been forced to evacuate Fumes as the enemy had broken through
the Belgian lines. I expressed my gratitude for his kindness, which I
was sure he would show, in providing fifty-five army rations for fifty-
five doctors and nurses devilishly hungry and utterly destitute. After
some hesitation he consented to give me a "chit," and turning to a
sergeant who had been my guide down a dark street, said: "Take this
officer to the depot and see that he gets everything he wants." It was
a little triumph not to be appreciated by readers who do not know the
humiliations experienced by correspondents in time of war.
A few minutes later the officer came padding down the street after
me, and I expected instant arrest and solitary confinement to the end
of the war. But he was out for information.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, very politely, "but would you mind
giving me a sketch of the military situation round your part?"
I gave him an outline of the affair which had caused the Belgian
headquarters staff to shift from Furnes, and though it was, I fancy,
slightly over-coloured, he was very much obliged.
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