Then the report of a revolver rang out, immediately followed by others, and at the same moment a terrific volley of mitrailleuse was brutally discharged into the street, from windows of the station building—it was said by officers, who cared little how many civilians might be sacrificed to their folly. The amazed and terrified Belgians were driven back like dust before a hurricane—dazed by the deafening roar, by the plunging of frantic horses, the crash of windows on every side, and the whistle of deadly missiles that filled the air like a sudden storm of hail, riddling adjacent houses and felling many a startled Belgian, with the soldiers it recklessly aimed to destroy. In less than two moments after the mitrailleuse opened fire, the street was cleared as by magic of every living being, save the troops firing back. Rushing blindly from a menace so little expected, the people crowded into shops or fled up side-streets for protection. Meanwhile the roar continued until the officers, surprised by troops (who, I believe, entered the building unperceived from the rear), were obliged to capitulate, and the irrational conflict was brought to an end. Local skirmishes of more or less serious character occurred at intervals throughout the city, during the passage of troops returning to their chastened Vaterland. In certain districts bullet-pierced windows and damaged façades bear witness of these outbreaks, mostly caused during an attack upon officers loyal to the Empire, discovered in their place of concealment. But, considering the unparalleled difficulty of the situation,—these vast armies of enemy troops, flushed with freedom from autocratic control, coming into the midst of a people taught to despise them,—there was extraordinarily little discord. The troops, for the most part, were amiable, taking even occasional gibes in a good spirit. Only the officers—those who still remained, mostly without epaulettes and wearing a bit of red—appeared to distrust the Belgians, and were ever on the alert for attack: the fear of guilty consciences, apparently quite lacking in the soldier! I myself saw some who (doubtless in accordance with von Hindenburg’s suggestion) stayed to settle up matters pertaining to the government, etc., carrying hand-grenades as they moved about the streets—weapons they could hurl into the midst of that massed attack they seemed to dread! While standing, one day, at the Porte de Namur watching a battered regiment pass by on its slow, foot-weary way to Liège and Germany, I was amazed to hear what an amount of good-natured taunting they received from the crowd, not only without resentment, but often with responsive levity. One man near me cried out in Flemish: “They are bound to get to Paris, but have decided the shorter and best route is by way of Berlin!” “_Ja, ja!_” returned laughingly a haggard-faced youth seated on a cannon-wagon, “_Sie haben recht!_ the road to Berlin is the best of all roads!”