Half an hour later he was speeding northward again along the valley of the Meuse toward Namur, in company with two other surgeons, Frenchmen, who seemed very thoughtful and depressed. Stewart, who had expected to find the roads crowded with matériel and troop-train after troop-train rolling northward to the aid of struggling Belgium, was astonished to perceive no evidences of war whatever—just the same peaceful countryside he had passed through the day before. Something had gone wrong, then; and he turned to his companions for information, but they only shrugged their shoulders gloomily and shook their heads.
At Namur they left the car, and the orderly, who had told Stewart that his destination was Landen, some distance farther on, came back to sit with him in the tonneau, evidently welcoming the opportunity to talk to some one. He had spent two or three years as a clerk in an uncle's silk house in Boston, and so spoke English fluently. He too was gloomy about the immediate outlook. The French, it seemed, had been caught off their guard—or, rather, while guarding themselves from the only blow which could legitimately be struck at them by mobilizing along the eastern frontier, had been stabbed in the back by the German attack through Belgium.
The orderly said frankly that the situation was serious—and was certain to become more serious before it could improve. The mobilization of a million men was an intricate task; it would take time to swing the army around from the east to the north—a week at least. And it would be impossible to give the Belgians any real assistance before that time. And that would probably be too late.
"Too late?" said Stewart, in surprise. "Aren't the Belgians holding?"
"Oh, yes, they are holding," his companion answered. "They are fighting gallantly. The forts at Liège even have not yet fallen—but it can be only a matter of hours until they do. Then the flood will be let loose, and all the little Belgian army can hope to do is to fight delaying rear-guard actions as it retreats."
"Perhaps the English can get in," Stewart suggested.
"The English? But England has no army—or, at best, a mere handful of regulars. Perhaps in two years she will be able to do something."
"Two years?" echoed Stewart, staring at his companion to see if he was in earnest. "Do you really think this war can last that long?"
"It will last longer than that," the other answered composedly. "It will last until Germany is totally defeated—it will last till she is freed from slavery to the military caste—until the Hohenzollerns are driven from the throne. And that will take a long time."
"Yes," agreed Stewart. "From what I have seen of the German army, I should say it would!"