The dock at Calais was crowded with anxious friends and Belgian soldiers. Madame de M. found several acquaintances among the latter—friends of her husband. After the usual Custom House proceedings we started on a quest for rooms for the night. A subdued excitement trembled over the city; the whole population was in the streets; throngs were seething up and down; hundreds of soldiers were hurrying to and fro and intense groups of men discussed probabilities, while anxious women pressed in on the crowd to catch a hopeful word. We heard that the German army was about to plunge through to Dunkirque and would shell Calais from there. The civil population was therefore expecting every moment the order to evacuate the city.
As we crossed the railroad near the pier, we saw in the half light a small company of Belgian soldiers limping along, each with a forlorn bundle on his back. Their aspect was complètement démoralizé, and the young lieutenant with us, moved by his quick sympathy, shouted, "Oh, say, camarades, have you heard of the new victories on the Yser and the brilliant defense of the Belgians?" The poor, despondent things, fired at once by the spirit of his enthusiasm, straightened themselves up and cried, "Oh! Ah! Is it true? Merci, mon lieutenant, vivent les Belges!"
A few yards further on we passed a group of refugees who were stumbling aimlessly along in the dark—there were men and women, trying to console each other, and whimpering children, sick with hunger, clinging to their mothers' skirts. Their plaintive cry was like a knife through the heart.
After picking a toilsome way through the crowds we arrived in the quarter of the big hotels and found there was not a room to be had. Not at all daunted, we retraced our steps and sought the small hotels—there were no rooms. Still, with courage—even amusement (the affair was taking on a spirit of adventure) we attacked the pensions de famille—not a cot; not a corner. Then we stopped in the Place to review the situation, which began to look dull gray. There were still the cabarets, or we could sit in the street all night. We chose the cabarets and with newborn hope started on, systematically taking one street after another, knocking at most dreadful-looking places, even along the waterfront. A woman's voice from behind barred shutters usually responded. Every chair, every table, every square inch of floor was spoken for. Then the warm, brightly-lighted railroad station, opposite the pier, leaped into our numbed consciousness—why had we not thought of it before? The military authorities forbade loitering there.
Out in the dark, once more we looked at each other inquiringly. That was a curious joke. Fate had never dealt us such a hand of cards before! We viewed the landscape—half of it was water and the little waves lapping against the quai were rather mocking.
Suddenly, dark and smug, a swaying object which we had not observed till then, took monstrous form before our eyes and in it we recognized an old friend, the Channel boat Elfrida, which lay basking in the velvet shadows like a dozing cat and gently pulling on her cables. Why not? We did! Nothing prevented our going aboard but a sleepy guard, who was quickly consoled with a five-franc piece, and we made ourselves comfortable for the night on the yellow, velvet cushions in the captain's salon, behind the wheel-house.
Who can assert that it has not all been arranged for us? Otherwise, I fear, our own poor efforts would land us too often in the mud.
November 10th, Tuesday.
Left Calais at nine A. M. The sun was pouring its cheerful rays over the glorious land. It ought to be free—this smiling France! Wherever the eye rested were soldiers drilling, building, maneuvering and digging. Every few hundred yards the railroad was intersected by lines of trenches. These latter appeared to be about seven feet deep—cut true as a die into the ground and were braced with a lining of woven reeds, like basket work. The front wall of these trenches was crenated about every two feet, forming little niches for the soldiers and protection against flank shots. The poppies and corn flowers blowing over the edges were holding on for dear life to their tiny inch of soil and nearly obliterated those brutal gashes in the earth which had swallowed up their brothers and sisters. An unsuspecting army might well be lured into such a pleasant bear-trap.