ed and terror
during the end of last week. I was in the midst of it and saw
unforgettable scenes of the enormous tragedy. It was a flight of
hundreds and thousands of families from St. Omer and Roubaix, Bethune,
Douai, Valenciennes, and Arras, who were driven away from their northern
homes by the menace of approaching Uhlans. They are still being hunted
by fear from place to place, where they can find no shelter and no
permanent safety. The railways have been choked with them, and in these
long fugitive trains which pass through stations there is no food or
drink. The poor runaways, weary, filthy, and exhausted, spend long days
and nights shunted onto side lines, while troop trains pass and pass,
and are held up in towns where they can find no means of existence
because the last civilian train has left.

When the troops marched away from Boulogne and left it silent and
unguarded I saw the inhabitants, utterly dismayed, standing despondently
staring at placards posted up by order of the Governor, which announced
the evacuation of the town and called upon them to be ready for all
sacrifices in the service of their country. The customs officers left,
the civil police disarmed, while a flag with nine black spots was made
ready to be hoisted on the fort directly any Uhlans were sighted.

The people of Boulogne could not understand, no Frenchman of the north
can understand, why their ports and towns are silent after the tramp of
so many regiments who have left a great tract of country open and
undefended. In that corner of France the people listen intently for the
first clatter of hoofs and for the first cry "Les Uhlans." Rumors came
that the enemy has been seen in neighboring towns and villages. Can one
wonder that mothers and fathers rush from their houses and wander forth
in a blind, unreasoning way to swell the panic tide of fugitives,
homeless and without food, dropping here and there on the wayside in
utter weariness?

I was lucky in getting out of Boulogne on the last train bound for
Paris, though not guaranteed to reach the capital. As a matter of fact,
I was even more lucky because it did not arrive at its destination and
enabled me to alight in the war zone and proceed to more interesting
places.

I will tell at once the story of the French retirement when the Germans
advanced from Namur down the valley of the Meuse, winning the way at a
cost of human life as great as that of defeat, yet winning their way.
For