Needless to
say that over this building also were flying flags of the Red Cross.
On Sunday, Sept. 27, I spent about two hours on top of the north tower
of the cathedral, behind the parapets, where I could not be seen,
watching the bombardment of the French forces, which was going on in the
suburbs of the town, situated at about two kilometers from my point of
vantage. It was most interesting, the precision with which the German
shells arrived in groups of six at intervals of, I should say, three to
five minutes. The French troops were all wonderfully covered so that
they could not be seen, their guns being concealed under straw or beet
leaves, according to the character of the ground upon which the battery
was established.
No smoke came from their guns, their powder being absolutely smokeless,
and yet the Germans seemed to have located them very thoroughly and kept
up a continual bombardment, their shells landing repeatedly over the
same place, seemingly, without any deviation whatever.
Shot Proclaims "Lights Out."
We all slept the Saturday and Sunday nights in Rheims, which was in a
state of siege, all lights being out at 8 o'clock. One of our party
foolishly left his window open while he had his light on; a pistol shot
from the police drew attention to the fact, and the entire electric
light of the hotel was immediately cut off.
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