There was hardly an hour
of the day that I did not nod over the hedge to groups of stern, silent
men, accompanied by their women, and leading the children by the hand,
taking the short cut to the station which leads over the hill, right by
my gate, to Couilly. It has been so thrilling that I find myself
forgetting that it is tragic. It is so different from anything I ever
saw before. Here is a nation--which two weeks ago was torn by political
dissension--suddenly united, and with a spirit that I have never seen
before.
I am old enough to remember well the days of our Civil War, when
regiments of volunteers, with flying flags and bands of music, marched
through our streets in Boston, on the way to the front. Crowds of
stay-at-homes, throngs of women and children lined the sidewalks,
shouting deliriously, and waving handkerchiefs, inspired by the marching
soldiers, with guns on their shoulders, and the strains of martial
music, varied with the then popular "The girl I left behind me," or,
"When this cruel war is over." But this is quite different. There are
no marching soldiers, no flying flags, no bands of music.
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