I was glad I had made the effort to get to town, for this began to look
as if they might succeed in arriving before the circle of steel that
surrounds Paris, and God knows what good that seventy-five miles of
fortifications will be against the long-range cannon that battered down
Liege. I had only one wish--to get back to my hut on the hill; I did
not seem to want anything else.
Just before the train ran into Lagny--our first stop--I was surprised to
see British soldiers washing their horses in the river, so I was not
surprised to find the station full of men in khaki. They were sleeping
on the benches along the wall, and standing about, in groups. As to
many of the French on the train this was their first sight of the men in
khaki, and as there were Scotch there in their kilts, there was a good
deal of excitement.
The train made a long stop in the effort to put more people into the
already overcrowded coaches. I leaned forward, wishing to get some
news, and the funny thing was that I could not think how to speak to
those boys in English. You may think that an affectation. It wasn't.
Finally I desperately sang out:--
"Hulloa, boys.
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