"Oh, yes," he replied, cracking his whip, "we usually get three or four every afternoon about this time, but they have not hurt any one." Dunkirk that night answered the description of what a threatened town which was not afraid should look like. It had none of the depressing atmosphere of Calais. All the refugees and the wounded were passed on to a safer place. It was full of French, English, and Belgian soldiers, with a scattering of sailors and breezy officers from both the French and English navies. They kept the waiters in the cafes on the run, and there was only an occasional bandage showing from under a cap or around a hand to indicate these men were engaged in any more serious business than a man[oe]uvre. [Sidenote: Armored motor-car.] In the street, however, in front of the statue of Jean Bart, an armored Belgian motor-car was standing. It was built with a turret where the tonneau usually is and it was covered with thick sheet steel right down to the ground. Just in front of the driver was a slit with a lip extending over it, giving it somewhat the effect of the casque belonging to an ancient suit of armor. That was the only opening except the one for the barrel of the rapid-fire gun in the turret. The armor was dented in a dozen places where bullets had glanced off, but it had only been penetrated at one spot, about six inches from the muzzle of the gun. From the soldier at the steering gear I learned that that bullet had passed over the shoulder of the man in the turret. [Sidenote: Bombardment of Nieuport.] Twenty-four hours later, at Nieuport, when the German shells seemed to be falling in every street and on every house, I saw this car again, going forward at not less than forty miles an hour. The turret was being swung to bring the gun-muzzle forward, as if the gunner were expecting to go into action almost immediately. As the last of the Belgian trenches were just the other side of the town, I have no doubt that he did. [Sidenote: A walk to the firing line.] Getting out of Dunkirk was rather more of a problem than going in. To obtain permission to ride toward the Belgian line in any kind of conveyance was an elaborate performance, and quite properly so, as I soon learned. There were preparations for defence going on there which should not have been publicly known. The country was full of spies. Four suspects had been picked up on the boat coming from Folkestone. If I had realized what I was to see in the next few miles I would not have attempted what I did. But, as I was anxious to get on and the firing-line was only twenty miles away, I decided to walk.