The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1914-10-14

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to get into Antwerp. You wait and
wait and wait, and at last you get
to a soldier. You show your passport
and he reads it slowly, oh, so slowly,
while two soldiers stand on each side
of you, their bayonets horribly near.
What r you coming to Antwerp for?
Where are you going? Where do you
come from? Explain your presence.
And explain you must, or never will
you get in to that inner line Of bayo.
nets that yet awaits you.
"Out Of the station at last, safe
through 1t all, famished, worn out, but
happy at having really arrived at ones
| goal. Into the restaurant a crowd of
priests come hurrying, their long,
black robes Tapping heavily, and soon
they are begging for my Daily Neil,
that I bought at Ostend. They hang
over the pictures Of the British troops
arriving in Ostend, and presently,
looking up, I discover a curious sight.
One by one all that restaurant-wait-
ers, customers, managers and all
have crept towards the priests table
and are craning their heads to catch
a glimpse of what NEAR more to them
than anything else - pictures - for
they neve have pictures in their pa
pers, never any pictures at all, and as
many Of them cannot read, these pho.
tographs are life to them.
Ready for the Siege.
Antwerp Is crowded. Her streets
are full wherever you go. Walled in
all around with magnificent fortified.
tions,. she stands ready for siege. Sol
diers and gendarmes are everywhere.
At every third step you are called on
to halt at the point Of a bayonet.
How beautiful Antwerp is. She has
a glorious beauty all her own. In
the golden, blazing sunlight thousands
Of banners are floating in the wind,
enormous banners, hanging out Of
those great, white houses that stand
in the magnificent avenues lined with
acacias, hanging out Of all the shops
and houses along the Chaussee de Ma,
lines, hanging ever from the cathe-
dral-banners, banners, they are ev-
~erywhere. Hour after hour n drives
about and there are banners always
gold, red and black, floating every
where. That black gives a ~curiously
majestic If somber look to the city.
I confess I don't quite like it, and If
I were a Belgian I would raise heaven
and earth to have the black taken out
Of my national flag.
might falls-a soft, warm, summer
night, and In semidarkness we dine
at Jul hotel, with the walters moving
about like specters. Then we go out
into the streets again. 1t Is eight
o'clock. The city has drawn down all
its blinds, all its shutters. No lights
burn in the streets. No lights show
in the houses. All the cafes and res
%taurants are in darkness. Through the
darkness, filed always with a SILVER
ing dread, people move about, too rest
less to remain within doors in this
sitting August heat. And over all is
silence. In silence the guards stand
before the big, white royal palace,
where faint lights are dim behind the
heavily %curtained windows on the
ground floor. Soon the silence and'the
darkness, so poignant and significant,
grow too much for ones nerves, and
the streets empty, and we will go
home to u haunted homes, too ex-
hausted by u emotion to care much
If the Zeppelin does come tonight.
EARLY next morning, while the dew
was fresh, l went to the outskirts Of
the city to look at the mined waters
and armed trenches, but I was prompt
ly held up by two soldiers. They leaned
from each side into my carriage and
demanded what I vas doing there.
The younger one-he was only alloy
looked very fierce and tried a ruse.
He spoke to me in German. / was just
In time to saw myself from replying
in that fatal language. Then he point
ed to the top Of his bayonet. The
older soldier frowned at him and said,
No, no. Ellie est Anglaise.' But the
boy looked very fierce. He was. very
young-I hope the Germans will never
oot bipoD %