He had been there four weeks, hiding in the basement.

He took some food with him or found some there; at any rate, he managed to live four weeks.

He was blind, and nearly deaf, too, when we found out where he was and dug him out--but he is still alive." One of us said we should like to have a look at a man who had undergone such an entombment.
"No, you wouldn't," said the captain; "for he is no very pleasant sight.
He is a slobbering idiot." In the Grand Place, near the shell-riddled Church of Notre Dame--built by the Bishops in the thirteenth century, restored by the Belgian Government in the nineteenth, and destroyed by the German guns in the twentieth--a long queue of women wound past the doorway of a building where German noncommissioned officers handed out to each applicant a big loaf of black soldier bread.
"Oh, yes; we feed the poor devils," the German commandant, an elderly, scholarly looking man of the rank of major, said to us when he had come up to be introduced.

"When our troops entered this town the men of the lower classes took up arms and fired at our soldiers; so the soldiers burned all their houses and shot all the men who came out of those houses.
"All this occurred before I was sent here.

Had I been the commander of the troops, I should have shot them without mercy.