Among them were some British troops, and I had a talk with them.  They had been fighting for ten days without cessation, and their story is typical of the way in which all our troops held themselves.

“We had been fighting night and day,” said a Sergeant.  “For the whole of that time the only rest from fighting was when we were marching and retiring.”  He spoke of the German Army as an avalanche of armed men.  “You can’t mow that down,” he said.  “We kill them and kill them, and still they come on.  They seem to have an inexhaustible supply of fresh troops.  Directly we check them in one attack a fresh attack is developed.  It is impossible to oppose such a mass of men with any success.”

This splendid fellow, who was severely wounded, was still so much master of himself, so supreme in his common sense, that he was able to get the right perspective about the general situation.

“It is not right to say we have met with disaster,” he said.  “We have to expect that nowadays.  Besides, what if a battalion was cut up?  That did not mean defeat.  While one regiment suffered, another got off lightly”; and by the words of that Sergeant the public may learn to see the truth of what has happened.  I can add my own evidence to his.  All along the lines I have spoken to officers and men, and the actual truth is that the British Army is still unbroken, having retired in perfect order to good positions—­the most marvelous feat ever accomplished in modern warfare.

From Paris I went by the last train again which has got through to Dieppe.  Lately I seem to have become an expert in catching the last train.  It was only a branch line which struggles in an erratic way through the west of France, and the going was long and painful, because at every wayside station the carriages were besieged by people trying to escape.  They were very patient and very brave.  Even when they found that it was impossible to get one more human being on or one more package into the already crowded train they turned away in quiet grief, and when women wept over their babies it was silently and without abandonment to despair.  The women of France are brave, God knows.  I have seen their courage during the past ten days—­gallantry surpassing that of the men, because of their own children in their arms without shelter, food, or safety in this terrible flight from the advancing enemy.

Enormous herds of cattle were being driven into Paris.  For miles the roads were thronged with them; and down other roads away from Paris families were trekking to far fields with their household goods piled into bullock carts, pony carts, and wheelbarrows.

Two batteries of artillery were stationed by the line, and a regiment of infantry was hiding in the hollows of the grassy slopes.  Their outposts were scanning the horizon, and it was obvious that the Germans were expected at this point in order to cut the last way of escape from the capital.