Suddenly there was an uproar and crush at the other end of the Square. We had to spread ourselves to keep order. Playoust went to see what was up, leaving his half-section to take care of itself, with the natural consequence that it disbanded. He came back, raising his hands, with awful tales of the whole populace fleeing before the invaders! There was nothing to be done! This time the Bosches were coming in dense masses, ravaging and setting fire to everything!
A group was formed round him. The men listened anxiously. He pulled a face. Was he rotting, or speaking the truth? We never thought of interrupting. However someone did take it upon himself. It was De Valpic, whom no one had counted on.
"That'll do, Playoust! No tomfoolery!"
The other was quite taken aback. Guillaumin and I saw the danger, and went to the rescue, turning his tales to ridicule. He tried to back out of it. The men were reassured, and began to laugh, and our own confidence was strengthened by it too.
Yes, but what were we waiting for here? For orders, always orders! They were delayed for a good while longer, and when they did arrive, dumbfounded us! We were to fall back on Étain.
There was nothing to be done but obey, so we retraced our steps along the road we had followed so gaily the day before. Dissimulation was no longer possible. We caught up and mingled with the sad troops of fugitives. As long as the darkness lasted, we only half-realised what it meant. But what a ghastly vision of distress the daybreak brought us!
A dismal procession of women, children, and old men, many of them on foot, laden with packages and bags, or pulling and pushing wheelbarrows and hand-carts—the others huddled pêle-mêle in conveyances of all ages, shapes, and sizes, drawn by oxen, donkeys, and dogs. The whole populace, as Playoust had said, people hurrying along, elbowing their way, getting hung up, and delayed. Their heads were hanging, and they did not answer the stream of questions which burst from our ranks. Babies' tears, and mothers' sighs. Every other minute a cyclist, or a staff car cleared a way for itself, tooting and cursing.... And I remember an old, a very old peasant, perched on a big tilted cart brandishing his pitch-fork and shouting to us, as he pointed in the opposite direction:
"That's where they be, you slackers!"
I was glad when, by eight o'clock, we had out-distanced the gloomy horde, by our regular pace. But a long halt on the outskirts of Étain condemned us to being caught up again by the mournful stream which flowed all day.
In the evening we set off again, and once more went through the little town. How it had changed since the day before!