Though but three days had passed since we came through Amiens on our way to the front, a great change had taken place in the town. Three days ago it was practically deserted, for most of those who had gone away in the face of the big German advance had not yet returned. Windows were then shuttered, doors boarded, no traffic was to be seen in the street. Lamps were broken and the shattered glass lay on the pavements. Amiens was a dead city lacking light and radiance by night, movement and sound by day. Mourning and stupor lay like a pall over the town. But now on our return we could see that a great resurrection had taken place. Lights showed in the shops, women served in the cafés where the red and blue bottles flung back the reflection of many lamps, children were playing on the pavements, and newsboys were shouting out the daily papers, English and French, at every corner. Amiens with usual French perseverance was accommodating itself to the new life and settling down again to its ordinary every-day round of business.
Having seen Amiens Cathedral in the darkness, we returned to our hotel to find a number of fresh visitors who had joined our party. One was Mr. Hughes, Premier of Australia, who was visiting the troops then billeted in the back area, drilling and getting fit for further encounters on the battlefield. For the night he was stopping in Amiens at our hotel and on the morrow he was going back with us to London.
On our entrance to the dining-room we found one of the officers telling the story of the bayonet, which he held to be the greatest weapon used by the fighting man.
"The best weapon of all," he said. "Other weapons do their bit, the tank, the big gun, and the rifle, but none are as effective as the cold steel. When in the early days of the war the British soldiers went back from Mons 'twas the bayonet that saved them many a time. The gun did a share, the barbed wire entanglements were of some service, but when it came to hand-to-hand fighting there was only one weapon called into play, the bayonet."
"The Germans don't like it," some one said.
"Not they," said the officer, "it's cut and run when they are up against the steel. But with the Turk it's a different matter. When he's cornered he'll fight for his life and make a good fight of it. He's a splendid man, Johnnie Turk, a damned good fellow, and one that can give you a run for your money when you come in contact with him. And he has such a queer way of fighting with the steel. Twists and whirls his bayonet round in a queer tantalizing manner, and you never know where you are, whether he's doing it for a joke or not. But there's some plan in his capers, as we saw out on the Peninsula. Some of our boys were inclined to laugh at Johnnie's capers, but they knew better after a while, for suddenly the beggar would stop his gyrations and sweep forward and slash upwards and probably get home. I saw many of the Diggers fall to the Turks' bayonet, but never from a straight thrust forward. Johnnie always cut upwards.
"The surgeon has never dressed a bayonet wound," he added. "The weapon is always fatal."
During the evening we talked of many things, of incidents of war and peace. The Premier told us many entertaining stories of his life in Australia, and one I particularly remember.
Mr. Hughes in his early days was put forward as a political candidate for some little township. This was a place where party strife was rife and where now and again matters of import were decided not by peaceful argument and gentle discussion, but by the heavy fists of angry men. One party put Mr. Hughes forward, another party brought another person into the limelight and said that he should be a candidate in preference to Mr. Hughes. Eventually, it was decided to put the matter to a vote.
While the voting took place Mr. Hughes was in some other part of the town dealing with other affairs. He happened to be sitting in some house looking out on the street when he noticed a man in shirt sleeves coming tearing towards him, his face and neck beaded with perspiration.