We next came upon a temporary tent where two hundred men were quartered in a place a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. It was dark inside the tent, but by the aid of a candle that probably burned with difficulty in that air, one could see rows of excelsior mattresses packed in as close together as possible on the bare ground. The place was a nightmare, and the thought of two hundred and fifty men sleeping there was incredible. What impressed one, though, was not so much the conditions in that tent, for we could see near by a new shed, intended for them, needing only a day's work to complete it, but the policy of entire sincerity on the part of the War Ministry in permitting an American correspondent to see this section of the camp. We then came upon the Englishmen. Their quarters were just the same as the Russians, and as we later saw, equally as good as those occupied by the comparatively few Frenchmen at Doeberitz. The Germans had given them their quarters clean, and they had kept them clean. It was a relief to go among them. It was with an odd sensation, too, that an American heard these men, these prisoners of war, speak his own language. Like the Russians, those who had been sitting, sprang on to their feet, but there was no salute. There was none of the unctuous servility noticeable among the Slavs. There was no attempt to curry favor with the officers of the camp, and one admired the English tremendously for that. They had played the game of war, lost, and they were taking their medicine. Their attitude, you saw, as you looked down their line of faces, was admirable. To my amazement the Lieutenant Colonel turned to me and said, "You can talk to these men if you like," adding, "I know now what they'll say to you." And standing off he listened to the conversation with a smile. "Well, boys, how do you like it here?" "Rotten," was the answer given together. I looked at the officer; he seemed not surprised. "Where were you captured?" I asked a particularly boyish marine. "At Antwerp, sir." "Then you fellows are the new recruits that were sent over there?" They all said, "Yes." "How long were you drilled?" "About two weeks, sir." And one was struck with the pitiful side of the blunder that made the First Lord of England's Admiralty the laughing stock of military experts the world over. In America we had read and only half believed that Winston Churchill had taken five thousand young men, practically greenhorns, and thrown them into Antwerp, a mere handful compared to the German hosts. That needless sacrifice of men, that useless waste of five thousand, their number making them practically useless, came home now in another way. Every boy there--and they nearly all look like boys--could blame the high-hatted strategist of the Admiralty for their predicament. And many of them openly did. "The grub here," said a voice from their ranks, "is swill; it's nothing but skilley, and poor stew at that. Slops, I calls it, sir."