As hostilities grow between the Kingdom of Prussia and the Empire of France, the telegraph cables between the Continent and Great Britain have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of messages. Our correspondents on the continent report a similar back log of messages in every telegraphy office. The volume is so great that telegraphy companies have had to search far and wide for relief telegraphers. Wrist injuries, due to extreme exertion, have sent several telegraphers to their sick beds.

The Times has undertaken, therefore, to hire couriers to carry reports from correspondents in key locations via the fastest alternate routes available. Mr. Oliphant's compelling report, reproduced in full here, was conveyed by rail and channel ferry to keep the public fully informed of the situation on the continent.

With the clouds of war gathered ominiously on two horizons, the hard-working inhabitiants of the village of Corrim, Belgium, were not entirely surprised when they heard the sounds of battle late Sunday night. What frightened and dismayed them was how close the battle was.

With the armies of Imperial France massing not quite fifty miles to the south, and the forces of Prussia gathering some sixty miles east of that location, the residents of this peaceful farming village had thought that, at most, they might hear some dim distant rumblings of the coming battles. They were completely unprepared for the thunder of cavalry, the bark of rifle fire, and the occasional explosion of cannon in meadows and fields adjoining their own humble farms. But that is precisely what they heard on Sunday, and again on Monday evening.

Though local authorities are loathe to comment, the local residents were not so reticent to tell their tales. M. Monatani's family has farmed in this region for generations. He was asleep when the sound of gun fire awakened himself and his wife. "I looked out the window and could see a glow on the railway spur to the west of our property. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I perceived a train of at least 12 cars sitting on the tracks. Several of them were passenger cars, with lanterns lit."

The rail spur in question is not part of the main line. It dead ends on the property of Baron von Gower. The Baron raises and trains race horses on the farm in question, and often entertains foreign guests during the summer months.

"I heard what was clearly a cavalry bugle, the sounds of many guns firing, and men shouting," M. Montani explained. "This continued for several minutes. The sounds finally subsided, about the time that several horse came galloping, riderless and panicked, across our field."

Another neighbor had a much better view of the trouble, but wished to remain anonymous. "I heard a great commotion," he explained. "As if scores of horses were trying to kick down a building. I went to the door of my cottage to look out and see what was happening. I could see that the trouble was comming from Baron von Gower's stables and barns. A crowd of men, some of them only half-dressed as if they had been awakened by the same noise, were attempting to calm the beasts."

The animals resisted the efforts of their handlers to calm them. "Someone finally realized that the horses needed to be turned out and allowed to run off the fear. More horses than I ever imagined might be in those stables stampeded out and the fled in all directions."

"As the horses vanished into the night, I could still hear the hoofbeats, getting louder by the moment," the neighbor explained. "At first I thought the horses might be running toward my home, until I saw the cavalry charging von Gower's manor house. For a moment I feared that the French had violated the treaties and were invading. Until the light from a lantern illuminated a standard, and I saw that the cavalry was Belgian."

The front line of the charge fired its guns into the milling crowd near the paddock. "Imagine my astonishment when the crowd, instead of dissolving into a panicked mob, rallied, and began returning fire!" the neighbor continued.

At least three more charges were sustained by the group. "I could see a cannon being pulled from one of the barns. I couldn't imagine what a cannon was doing there, but the men were shouting and loading it as quickly as they could when the third charge struck."

The barrage fired by the third charge had a devastating effect on the foot soldiers. "I saw a firey missle fly from the line of charging horses and strike the manor house. There was an enormous explosion," the neighbor explained. "Then more of the rockets were fired from one horse in the charging cavalry. It must have hit the cannon's powder, because there was another explosion. Then I could hear someone shouting, 'Surrender! Surrender!' and suddenly the remaining men were throwing down their arms."

Many neighbors were awakened that night by the hoofbeats and gunfire, or had to by groups of panicked horses running through their own gardens.

By dawn, the von Gower farm had become some sort of prison camp. At least a hundred young men, some dressed in what may have been military uniforms, were quartered in tents inside one of the paddocks. They were under the watchful eyes of Belgian cavalrymen.

Every attempt made to speak to a person in charge, or to question the Baron or any of his guests, was flatly refused. Careful observation from a distance indicated that the main doors of the manor had been destroyed. A fire had erupted and been put out on an upper floor, though not before destroying a window and staining part of the brick exterior with soot. Several men and women, not dressed in any uniform of any military, were seen coming and going between the main house and the out buildings. One of those people was easy to identify, even at such a great distance. The famous Irish-American adventurer, Atlas O'Flaherty.

Mr. O'Flaherty's presence could only confirm a suspicion which had already arisen into the minds of several of the townspeople who had seen the fiery missles during the previous evening: the American Outlaw known as Kid Rocket was assuredly involved in this affair.

As the noon hour approached, another detachment of cavalry arrived, though the commander and officers were as tight-lipped as the guards posted at the gate of the farm had been all day. They escorted a distinguished-looking grey-haired gentleman into the premises.

Shortly after noon more gunshots were heard. Some neighbors thought the sounds came from inside the manor house. Others insisted the shots were fired near the barn. Mr. O'Flaherty was spotted one more time, escorting a manacled and shackled man from the manor into a cellar.

Many strange and frightening sounds were heard coming from the manor throughout the day. Another cannon was moved from the barn and a group of men seemed to be preparing it to be fired. Whatever plan it may have been intended for was apparently abandoned, as a small boy was later seen clearly playing on the cannon as if it were a large toy.

As dusk approached, activity on the farm became more frantic. Groups of cavalrymen and civilians set up a large number of bonfires, each with a small encampament around it, at regular intervals in a circle centered on the main house. The soldiers appeared to be preparing for an attack.

The night grew darker and the tense mood of the soldiers had begun to effect the farmers and villagers. Even in the heart of Corrim people paused to cast an anxious eye toward the horizon. Everyone was asking themselves the same question: what did the soldiers fear was coming?

And then, at a quarter of eleven, a flare went up from the manor. It was a small light, scarcely larger then a firefly, at first. Then, when it had reached the apex of its trajectory, it blossomed into a burst of light which was blinding. Such an manmade light has never before been seen. Crows as far as three miles away began crowing frantically, convinced that morning had arrived early.

And this new light, this stupendous flare, this indescribably brilliant new form of rocket device, revealed the danger which the soldiers feared.

On the northwest horizon, flying low to the ground were four objects. Some who saw them swear that it was four angels. Others claim with equal certainty that it was four fiends from the bowels of Hades. Less spiritually-inclined witnesses opined that they were some form of aerofrigate--steerable balloons which were smaller and more maneuverable than any previously seen by the public.

Whatever the flying assailants were, they had lost the element of surprise and would now face the full wrath of Kid Rocket and his allies. Rockets were fired into the air. As were guns, cannon, and even flaming arrows.

The four flying objects burst into flame and plummetted to the ground. Several soldiers on foot, accompanied by hunting dogs, rushed out to the crash sights to finish off any survivors.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. A bucket brigade formed swiftly to extinguish the flames in the meadow. And soon Kid Rocket, Atlas O'Flaherty, and their associates were searching through the wreckage.

The enormous flare continued to light up the sky long after the enemies had been vanquished. When the mysterious device finally extinguished, darkness fell as swiftly has it had been dispelled.

Activity on the farm became more frantic, rather than less, after the defeat of these airborne enemies. A carriage was driven as full gallop from the manor house to the train, which had sat, unmoving, on the rail spur throughout the day. The carriage was driven back even more swiftly to the house. Soon groups of the cavalrymen and the farmhands were seen carrying things to the train.

The engine's boiler was stoked. Finally, the train began to move. It reverse up the spur until it had reached the main line. Some of the cars were detached at Corrim station. Then reminder of the train then steamed south.

Rumours say that the train is bound for the province of Lorraine, in France. Kid Rocket and his group of allies, they say, are still pursuing the leaders of the anarchist group so recently responsible for the destruction of an historical building in Antwerp. Others claim that whoever was taken captive here were agents of either Prussia or France, plotting to circumvent Belgium's neutrality in pursuit of victory.

Another engine, waiting at the station, has taken at least one high-ranking officer and a group of soldiers north, toward Brussels. Rumours have reached the community of even more strange happenings in other parts of the tiny kingdom of Belgium. For now, the inhabitants of this quiet town are hoping that this will be the extent of their involvement in the conflict coming to a boil so close to their borders.

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