Fighting in Flanders | Page 6

in United Cigar Stores coupons, some of
which he chanced to have in his pocket-book, and which, he explained,
was American war currency. He told me that he gave her almost
enough to get a briar-pipe. At Boulogne he was arrested, as he had
foreseen, was stripped, searched and his camera opened, but as nothing
was found he was permitted to continue to London, where he went to
the countess's hotel and received his films--and, I might add, his money
and cigar coupons. Two hours later, having posted his films to America,
he was on his way to Belgium.
Landing at Ostend, he managed to get by train as far as Malines. He
then started to walk the twenty-odd miles into Brussels, carrying his
huge camera, his overcoat, field-glasses, and three hundred films.
When ten miles down the highway a patrol of Uhlans suddenly spurred
out from behind a hedge and covered him with their pistols. Thompson
promptly pulled a little silk American flag out of his pocket and
shouted "Hoch der Kaiser!" and "Auf wiedersehn" which constituted
his entire stock of German. Upon being examined by the officer in
command of the German outpost, he explained that his Canadian
credentials were merely a blind to get through the lines of the Allies
and that he really represented a syndicate of German newspapers in

America, whereupon he was released with apologies and given a seat in
an ambulance which was going into Brussels. As his funds were by this
time running low, he started out to look for inexpensive lodgings. As he
remarked to me, "I thought we had some pretty big house-agents out in
Kansas, but this Mr. 'A. Louer' has them beaten a mile. Why, that
fellow has his card on every house that's for rent in Brussels!"
The next morning, while chatting with a pretty English girl in front of a
cafe, a German officer who was passing ordered his arrest as a spy.
"All right," said Thompson, "I'm used to being arrested, but would you
mind waiting just a minute until I get your picture?" The German, who
had no sense of humour, promptly smashed the camera with his sword.
Despite Thompson's protestations that he was an inoffensive American,
the Germans destroyed all his films and ordered him to be out of the
city before six that evening. He walked the thirty miles to Ghent and
there caught a train for Ostend to get one of his reserve cameras, which
he had cached there. When I met him in Ostend he said that he had
been there overnight, that he was tired of a quiet life and was looking
for action, so I took him back with me to Antwerp. The Belgians had
made an inflexible rule that no photographers would be permitted with
the army, but before Thompson had been in Antwerp twenty-four hours
he had obtained permission from the Chief of the General Staff himself
to take pictures when and where he pleased. Thompson remained with
me until the fall of Antwerp and the German occupation, and no man
could have had a more loyal or devoted companion. It is no
exaggeration to say that he saw more of the campaign in Flanders than
any individual, military or civilian--"le Capitaine Thompson," as he
came to be known, being a familiar and popular figure on the Belgian
battle-line.
There is one other person of whom passing mention should be made, if
for no other reason than because his name will appear from time to time
in this narrative. I take pleasure, therefore, in introducing you to M.
Marcel Roos, the young Belgian gentleman who drove my motor-car.
When war was declared, Roos, who belonged to the jeunesse doree of
Brussels, gave his own ninety horse-power car to the Government and
enlisted in a regiment of grenadiers. Because he was as familiar with

the highways and byways of Belgium as a housewife is with her
kitchen, and because he spoke English, French, Flemish and German,
he was detailed to drive the car which the Belgian Government placed
at my disposal. He was as big and loyal and good-natured as a St.
Bernard dog and he was as cool in danger as Thompson--which is the
highest compliment I can pay him. Incidentally, he was the most
successful forager that I have ever seen; more than once, in villages
which had apparently been swept clean of everything edible by the
Belgians or the Germans, he produced quite an excellent dinner as
mysteriously as a conjuror produces rabbits from a hat.
Now you must bear in mind that although one could get into Antwerp
with comparative ease, it by no means followed that one could get out
to the firing-line. A long procession of correspondents came to
Antwerp and remained a