Soon afterwards Klaasken died, and when the next contest was held the good folk of Antwerp produced a wonderful model of him, beautifully carved and splendidly dressed. The Mechlin people, incensed at this insult to their live dwarf, carried him off one dark night, when the doll was left unguarded. Op-Signoorke, as he was then re-christened, remained at Mechlin, and ever since, on the occasion of the annual Kermesse, he is hung out for all to see from a window of the town hall. Now when it was known that the Germans were close to the town, a wise alderman put Op-Signoorke in a bomb-proof shelter, where he will repose till poor Belgium comes into her own again. Shakespeare’s line in _Julius Cæsar_, “Let slip the dogs of war,” has a practical meaning in this war. Both the French and the German armies are accompanied to the front by war dogs; _les chiens militaires_ and _die Kriegshunde_, as they are respectively called, are trained to act as scouts, carry despatches, and they even help, as we shall see later on, to succour the wounded. In Belgium dogs do much of the work performed in other countries by horses, and during some of the more recent fights the smaller pieces of artillery were actually harnessed to dog teams. And now we must leave brave Belgium for a while, though later in this book you will hear of many gallant deeds and romantic happenings, as well as much that is piteous and terrible, concerning that country which for hundreds of years has been called “The Cockpit of Europe.” But there is much, even as I write, that goes to show that Belgium’s day of ordeal is drawing to a close, and to her we may say that as long as Britain, France, and Russia endure: “There’s not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee: thou hast great allies: Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.” CHAPTER II THE WHITE ENSIGN I saw fierce Prussia’s chargers stand, Her children’s sharp swords out; Proud Austria’s bright spurs streaming red When rose the closing shout; But soon the steeds rushed masterless, By tower and town and wood; For lordly France her fiery youth Poured o’er them like a flood. Go, hew the gold spurs from your heels, And let your steeds run free; Then come to our unconquered decks, And learn to reign at sea. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. After the War broke out, a wise man declared that every British child ought to say this grace before meat: “Thank God for my good dinner and for the British Navy.”