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 "The Red Water," said Brand. "Not a bad name when one thinks of the rivers of blood that have flowed between our armies and this place. It's been a long journey to this little bridge."

We stared across the brook, and were enormously stirred (I was, at least) by the historic meaning of this scene. Over there, a few yards away, was Germany, the fringe of what had been until some weeks ago the mighty German Empire. Not a human being appeared on that side of the stone bridge. There was no German sentry facing ours. The gate into Germany was open and unguarded. A deep silence was over there by the pinewoods where the undergrowth was red. I wondered what would happen when we rode through that silence and that loneliness into the first German town—Malmédy—and afterwards through many German towns and villages on the way to the Rhine

Looking back on that adventure, I remember our psychological sensations, our surprise at the things which happened and failed to happen, the change of mind which gradually dawned upon some of our officers, the incredulity, resentment, suspicion, amazement, which overcame many of them because of the attitude of the German people whom they met for the first time face to face without arms in their hands. I have already said that many of our officers had a secret dread of this advance into German territory, not because they were afraid of danger to their own skins but because they had a greater fear of being called upon to do "dirty work" in the event of civilians sniping and any sign of the franc-tireur. They had been warned by the High Command that that might happen, and that there must be a ruthless punishment of any such crimes.

"Our turn for atrocities!" whispered young cavalry officers, remembering Louvain and Alost, and they hated