But when one gets his real introduction into the lights o' war is when
he gets into the war country. It is eight o'clock in a great French
city. This French city has been known the world over for its brilliant
lights. It has been known for its gayly lighted boulevards, and indeed
this might apply to one of three or four French cities. Light was the
one scintillating characteristic of this great city. The first night
that one finds himself here he feels as though he were wandering about
in a country village at home. No arc-lights shine. The window-lights
are all extinguished. The few lights on the great boulevards are so
dimmed that their luminosity is about that of a healthy firefly in June
back home. One gropes his way about, feeling ahead of him and
navigating cautiously, even the main boulevards.
The first time I walked down the streets of this great city at night I
had the same feeling that I had on the Atlantic. I was sailing without
lights, on an unknown course, and I felt every minute that I would bump
into some unseen human craft, as indeed I did, both a feminine craft
and a male craft. I also had the feeling that in this particular city,
in the darkness I might be submarined by a city human U-boat, which
would slip up behind me. After having my second trip here I still have
that feeling as I walk the streets; the unlighted streets of this city,
and especially the side-streets, by night.