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264 WITH THE GERMAN ARMIES IN THE WEST
weather. Yet the many German uniforms tell their tale. We
stopped to have a look at the magnificent cathedral. We
found here an image of the Virgin Mary surrounded by burning
candles and by it was a notice that anyone offering up prayers
before the image would receive fifty days’ absolution. What
the many people kneeling on the praying stools were praying
for, we could readily guess.
In the palace of the Counts of Flanders we wandered
through subterranean crypts and along crenelated walls.
From a commanding crest we had a remarkable view over the
red-brick roofs and grey church towers of the town, all dripping
with rain.
I had been invited for supper by the charming and friendly
war historian, Major-General Friederich, where I met several
officers belonging to his staff. The General was now in mourn-
ing. His only son had fallen on the field of honour for his
country. But the General had other sons, to wit : his Land-
wehr soldiers, sturdy, strong, willing and lusty fellows. The
rank and file was composed of workmen, privy councillors,
cobblers’ apprentices, barristers, brewers’ draymen, high court
judges, blacksmiths and mayors. Differences in rank, party
contentions and class distinctions all disappear in the field
without leaving a trace behind them. War levels everything.
There is but one rank : that of the warrior who fights for the
honour of his country and the freedom of his people.
At nine in the morning of the 21st October we continued our
journey. The rain clouds still hung heavy over the narrow
streets and the weather did not brighten until we had left the
town behind us. At Eclo a company of German cyclists were
resting. Bridges span the canals here and there and the latter
in turn intersect the country in all directions to carry the many
lighters to and fro. There is not much traffic now. Now and
again we see large wagons which serve as homes for itinerant
families moving from place to place to buy up the tresses of
peasant girls, to sharpen knives, to do tinkering and so forth.
Bruges is one of the most celebrated cities of Europe on
account of its old-world air, its picturesque houses, its trees
and bridges over the canals and its mighty city gates with
rounded turrets. I felt I should like to remain to enjoy the
repose which seemed to dwell over the many waterways. But
now there is no time. We go on through a beech forest and
over open fields and reach the village of Ghistelles ; a few
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