She had been in
Amiens, as I was, on a dreadful night of August of 1914, when the
French army passed through in retreat from Bapaume, and she and the
people of her city knew for the first time that the Germans were close
upon them. She stood in the crowd as I did--in the darkness, watching
that French column pass with their transport, and their wounded lying
on the baggage wagons, men of many regiments mixed up, the light of
the street lamps shining on the casques of cuirassiers with their long
horsehair tails, leading their stumbling horses, and foot soldiers,
hunched under their packs, marching silently with dragging steps. Once
in a while one of the soldiers left the ranks and came on to the
sidewalk, whispering to a group of dark shadows. The crowds watched
silently, in a curious, dreadful silence, as though stunned. A woman
near me spoke in a low voice, and said, "Nous sommes perdus!" Those
were the only words I heard or remembered.
That night in the station of Amiens the boys of a new class were being
hurried away in truck trains, and while their army was in retreat sang
"La Marseillaise," as though victory were in their hearts.
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