On the Edge of the War Zone | Page 2

world except us few on this side
of the river.
At no time can we see much movement across the river except with a
glass. The plains are undulating. The roads are tree-lined. We trace
them by the trees. But the silence over there seems different today.
Here and there still thin ribbons of smoke--now rising straight in the air,
and now curling in the breeze--say that something is burning, not only
in the bombarded towns, but in the woods and plains. But what? No
one knows.
One or two of our older men crossed the Marne on a raft on the 10th,
the sixth day of the battle. They brought back word that thousands from
the battles of the 5th, 6th, and 7th had lain for days un-buried under the
hot September sun, but that the fire department was already out there
from Paris, and that it would only be a few days when the worst marks
of the terrible fight would be removed. But they brought back no news.
The few people who had remained hidden in cellars or on isolated
farms knew no more than we did, and it was impossible, naturally, to
get near to the field ambulance at Neufmortier, which we can see from
my lawn.
However, on the 9th--the very day after the French advanced from
here--we got news in a very amusing way. We had to take it for what it

was worth, or seemed to be. It was just after noon. I was working in the
garden on the south side of the house. I had instinctively put the house
between me and the smoke of battle when Amélie came running down
the hill in a high state of excitement, crying out that the French were
"coming back," that there had been a "great victory," and that I was to
"come and see."
She was in too much of a hurry to explain or wait for any questions.
She simply started across the fields in the direction of the Demi-Lune,
where the route nationale from Meaux makes a curve to run down the
long hill to Couilly.
I grabbed a sunbonnet, picked up my glasses, and followed her to a
point in the field from which I could see the road.
Sure enough--there they were--cuirassiers--the sun glinting on their
helmets, riding slowly towards Paris, as gaily as if returning from a fête,
with all sorts of trophies hanging to their saddles.
I was content to go no nearer. It was no army returning. It was only a
small detachment. Still, I could not help feeling that if any of them
were returning in that spirit, while the cannon were still booming, all
must be well.
Amélie ran all the way to the Demi-Lune--a little more than a quarter of
a mile. I could see her simply flying over the ground. I waited where I
was until she came back, crying breathlessly, long before she reached
me:
"Oh, madame, what do you think? The regiment which was here
yesterday captured a big, big cannon."
That was good news. They really had not looked it.
"And oh, madame," she went on, as she reached me, "the war is over.
The Germans have asked for peace," and she sat right down on the
ground.
"Peace?" I exclaimed. "Where? Who told you that?"
"A man out there. He heard it from a soldier. They have asked for
peace, those Boches, and General Gallieni, he told them to go back to
their own frontier, and ask for it there."
"And have they gone, Amélie?" I asked.
She replied quite seriously that they were going, and she was terribly
hurt because I laughed, and remarked that I hoped they would not be
too long about it.

I had the greatest possible difficulty in making her realize that we were
only hearing a very small part of a battle, which, judging by the
movements which had preceded it, was possibly extending from here to
the vicinity of Verdun, where the Crown Prince was said to be vainly
endeavoring to break through, his army acting as a sort of a pivot on
which the great advance had swung. I could not help wondering if, as
often happens in the game of "snap the whip," von Kluck's right wing
had got swung off the line by the very rapidity with which it must have
covered that long arc in the great two weeks' offensive.
Amélie, who has an undue confidence in my opinion, was terribly
disappointed, quite downcast. Ever since the British landed--she has
such faith in the British--she has believed in a short war. Of course I
don't know any more than she does. I have to guess, and I'm not a lucky
guesser as a rule. I confess to you that