From the reports of the auto-mitrailleuse men, who cover great distances in a day, similar skirmishing had been taking place at Etain, (where some farmhouses were burned,) Eterpigny, Croisilles, Boisleux, and Boyelles, these places ranging from ten to twenty kilometers from Arras.

There was a general exodus from Vitry and I secured standing room in a wagon of the last train leaving for Arras.  It was loaded with fugitives.

Arras had changed completely on my return.  Its calmness was gone.  The station was empty of civilians, there were no trains running and the station entrance was in charge of a strong picket of soldiers, while the road outside echoed to the tread of infantry.

I stood still in amazement, while my papers were being closely examined, and watched regiment after regiment of foot with their transport trains complete marching out on the road to Douai.  This was part of the preparation for the big battle which I was told was going to begin tomorrow.

In the town itself the transformation was still more amazing—­soldiers in every street, cavalry, infantry, dragoons, lancers, and engineers in ones and twos, and parties of twenty or thirty picturesque Moroccans.  I never saw such a medley of colors and expressions, and the whole town was full of them—­material for one army corps at least.

I installed myself in quarters at the Hotel de l’Univers, with the intention of getting away the first thing in the morning if possible.  But it was not possible.  I was informed that Arras was now under military control, and no permits were being issued whatsoever.  The Lieutenant who told me this smiled as I shrugged my shoulders.

“You will bear witness, Monsieur, that I tried my best to get out,” said I.

“Certainly; but why go away?” he asked with a smile.  “Arras est tres belle ville, Monsieur.  You have a good hotel, a good bed, and good food.  Why should you go out?”

And so I stayed at Arras.

That was Sept. 30.  The next day I could hear guns.  They started at about 8 o’clock in the morning, the French guns being in position about five kilometers outside of Arras to the south, southeast, and east, sixteen batteries of France’s artillery or 75-millimeter calibre.

All day long the guns thundered and roared, and all day long I sat outside the cafe of the Hotel des Voyageurs in the Place de la Gare.  The station building was right in front of me.  I longed for a position which would enable me to see over the tall buildings on to the battlefield beyond.  Even the roof of the station would have suited.  There was a little crowd of officials already there with their field glasses, and they could discern what was going on, for I noticed several pointing here and there whenever a particularly loud explosion was heard.

Two men in civilian clothes sat down beside me and gave me “good day,” evidently curious as to my nationality.  I invited them to join me in coffee and cognac, and during the ensuing conversation we all became very friendly, and I was given to understand that one of them was the volunteer driver of an auto-mitrailleuse who had just come off duty.