"Well," he said, "we are all that is left of the North Irish Horse and a
regiment of Scotch Borderers."
"What are you doing here?"
"Retreating--and waiting for orders. How far are we from Paris?"
I told him about seventeen miles. He sighed, and remarked that he
thought they were nearer, and as the train started I had the idea in the
back of my head that these boys actually expected to retreat inside the
fortifications. La! la!
Instead of the half-hour the train usually takes to get up from here to
Paris, we were two hours.
I found Paris much more normal than when I was there two weeks ago,
though still quite unlike itself; every one perfectly calm and no one
with the slightest suspicion that the battle line was so near--hardly
more than ten miles beyond the outer forts. I transacted my business
quickly--saw only one person, which was wiser than I knew then, and
caught the four o'clock train back--we were almost the only passengers.
I had told Pere not to come after us--it was so uncertain when we could
get back, and I had always been able to get a carriage at the hotel in
Esbly.
We reached Esbly at about six o'clock to find the stream of emigrants
still passing, although the roads were not so crowded as they had been
the previous day. I ran over to the hotel to order the carriage--to be
told that Esbly was evacuated, the ambulance had gone, all the horses
had been sold that afternoon to people who were flying. There I was
faced with a walk of five miles--lame and tired. Just as I had made up
my mind that what had to be done could be done,--die or no die,--Amelie
came running across the street to say:--
"Did you ever see such luck? Here is the old cart horse of Cousine
Georges and the wagon!"
Cousine Georges had fled, it seems, since we left, and her horse had
been left at Esbly to fetch the schoolmistress and her husband. So we
all climbed in. The schoolmistress and her husband did not go far,
however. We discovered before we had got out of Esbly that Couilly had
been evacuated during the day, and that a great many people had left
Voisins; that the civil government had gone to Coutevroult; that the
Croix Rouge had gone. So the schoolmistress and her husband, to whom
all this was amazing news, climbed out of the wagon, and made a dash
back to the station to attempt to get back to Paris. I do hope they
succeeded.
Amelie and I dismissed the man who had driven the wagon down, and jogged
on by ourselves. I sat on a board in the back of the covered cart, only
too glad for any sort of locomotion which was not "shank's mare."
Just after we left Esbly I saw first an English officer, standing in his
stirrups and signaling across a field, where I discovered a detachment
of English artillery going toward the hill. A little farther along the
road we met a couple of English officers--pipes in their mouths and
sticks in their hands--strolling along as quietly and smilingly as if
there were no such thing as war. Naturally I wished to speak to them.
I was so shut in that I could see only directly in front of me, and if
you ever rode behind a big cart horse I need not tell you that although
he walks slowly and heavily he walks steadily, and will not stop for any
pulling on the reins unless he jolly well chooses. As we approached the
officers, I leaned forward and said, "Beg your pardon," but by the time
they realized that they had been addressed in English we had passed. I
yanked at the flap at the back of the cart, got it open a bit, looked
out to find them standing in the middle of the road, staring after us in
amazement.