Just as I finished writing I received a photograph from the painter Guirand de Scévola, showing an old woman of sixty-five, who had been attacked--then slaughtered. With it was a part of the Belgium official report, not yet made public. I shall divulge the paragraph: "September 11th, Josephy Louis Buron, of the Twenty-fourth regiment of the line, declared that having been made prisoner by the Germans, near Aerschot, they made him plunge both hands into a kettle of boiling water. Dr. Thone, of the Twenty-fourth regiment of the line, declared he saw the wounds of the hero." (Told in the _New York American_.) LOST ON A SEAPLANE AND SET ADRIFT IN A MINE-FIELD _Adventures on the North Sea_ _Told by a Seaplane Observer_ The Great War has introduced new perils both on land and sea. Here is the story of one of them--two men drifting through a mine-field on a crippled seaplane, fending off mines with their bare hands, and expecting every moment to be blown to pieces! Daring adventure told in the _Wide World_. I--"MY HUNDREDTH FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH SEA" I completed my "century" of seaplane flights over the North Sea with an adventure the like of which, I trust, will never occur again. Many varied experiences have gone to total up that number of ascents--some far from pleasant, others most interesting, and well repaying one for occasional hardships. The sequel to my one-hundredth flight, however, will take a lot of effacing from my memory. The atmosphere was a trifle thick when we started off from our base with the intention of flying an ordinary hundred-and-fifty-mile circular patrol. The farther we progressed, the thicker grew the haze, till we at last were travelling through dense fog. We left at 7.30 a.m., and climbed to two thousand five hundred feet to get above the heat-haze and fog over the water. At eight-twenty-five, almost an hour later, the revolutions of the eight-foot tractor began slackening perceptibly, and presently, to our dismay, the engine stopped dead. We were compelled to descend so quickly that there was no time to send a wireless signal; in fact, I just barely managed to cut the trailing aerial wire free before we struck the sea. That I did so was a slice of luck, as, otherwise, the fuselage would probably have been ripped up, and the machine capsized. When the floats smacked the water we got quite a bump, and a decided jar in the nape of our necks. Fortunately, however, the under-carriage struts retained their rigidity and did not buckle, and the seaplane rode the water right way up. I will not worry the reader with a technical explanation of the trouble which had befallen our engine. Sufficient to state that it was of so serious a nature as to preclude us from any attempt at "patching her up." "Do you know where we are?" inquired the pilot, after we had heartily chorused a round of expletives appropriate to such an eventuality. I shook my head.