awe-inspiring spectacle as something provided by way of entertainment.
For the rest of the citizens it was dumbfounding beyond human
comprehension. Cavalry, infantry, and artillery rolled on unceasingly
to the clatter of horses' hoofs, the tramp of feet, the rumble
of guns, and that triumphant mighty chorus. There was nothing of
aforetime plumed and gold-laced splendor of war about it, but the
modern Teutonic arms on grim business bent. Except for a curious
glance bestowed here and there, the German troops marched with
eyes front, and a precision as if being reviewed by the emperor.
A few shots were heard to stir instant terror among the citizen
onlookers, but these were between the German advance guard and
Belgian stragglers left behind in the city. Presently the side
streets became dangerous to pedestrians from onrushing automobiles
containing staff officers, and motor wagons of the military train.
General von Arnim, in command, ordered the hauling down of all
allied colors, but permitted the Belgian flag to remain flying above
the Hôtel de Ville. He promptly issued a proclamation warning all
citizens to preserve the peace. It was both placarded and announced
verbally. The latter was performed by a minor city official, ringing
a bell as he passed through the streets accompanied by policemen.

Toward evening of August 20, 1914, the cafés and restaurants filled
up with hungry German officers and men; every hotel room was occupied,
and provision shops speedily sold out the stores on their shelves.
The Germans paid in cash for everything ordered, and preserved
a careful attitude of nonaggression toward the citizens. But
subconsciously there ran an undercurrent of dread insecurity. At the
outset a German officer was said to have been struck by a sniper's
bullet. Somewhat conspicuously the wounded officer was borne on
a litter through the streets, followed by the dead body of his