The glittering cavalcade sails serenely onward, until the whole sky-line from right to left above the beach is dotted with those sparkling creatures, now outlined against the deep plentiful blue of the sky, and now gliding and hiding beneath some vast soft drift of feathery grey-white cloud. It is a sight never to be forgotten. Its beauty is so vivid, so thrilling, that it is difficult to realise that this lovely spectacle of a race across the sky is no game, no race, no exhibition, but represents the ultimate end of all the races and prizes and exhibitions and attempts to fly. Here is the whole art of flying in a tabloid as it were, with all its significance at last in evidence. The silver aeroplanes over the sea keep guard all the time, moving along very, very slowly, and very high up, until the Taube has dropped its last bomb over the city. Then they glide away across the sea in the direction of England. I walked back to the city. What a change since I came through it an hour or so before! I looked at the Hotel de Ville and shuddered. All the windows were smashed; and just at the side, in a tiny green square, was the great hole that showed where the bomb had fallen harmlessly. All the afternoon the audacious Taube remained rushing about high above Dunkirk. But later that afternoon, as I was in a train en route for Fumes, fate threw in my way the chance to see a glorious vindication! The train was brought suddenly to a standstill. We all jumped up and looked out. It was getting dusk, but against the red in the sky two black things were visible. One dropped a bomb, intended for the railway station a little further on. By that we knew it was German, but we had little time to think. The other aeroplane rushed onwards; firing was heard, and down came the German, followed by the Frenchman. They alighted almost side by side. We could see quite plainly men getting out and rushing towards each other. A few minutes later some peasants came rushing to tell us that the two Germans from the Taube both lay dead on the edge of that sandy field to westward. Then our train went on. CHAPTER L THE WAR BRIDE The train went on. It was dark, quite dark, when I got out of it ac last, and looked about me blinking. This was right at the Front in Flanders, and a long cavalcade of French soldiers were alighting also. Two handsome elderly Turcos with splendid eyes, black beards, and strange, hard, warrior-like faces, passed, looking immensely distinguished as they mounted their arab horses, and rode off into the night, swathed in their white head-dresses, with their flowing picturesque cloaks spread out over their horses' tails, their swords clanking at their sides, and their blazing eyes full of queer, bold pride. Then, to my great surprise, I see coming out of the station two ladies wrapped in furs, a young lady and an old one. "Delightful," I think to myself.