g; and then we descend, we go
away the way we came, and the host follows itself heavily and makes
more steps into the gulf.

* * * * * *

When we have gone again down the slope of the hill, we find ourselves
once more in the bottom of a valley, for another height begins. Before
ascending it, we stop to take breath, but ready to set off again should
the flood-tide appear on the ridge yonder. We find ourselves in the
middle of grassy expanses, without trenches or defense, and we are
astonished not to see the supports. We are in the midst of a sort of
absence.

We sit down here and there; and some one with his forehead bowed almost
to his knees, translating the common thought, says:--

"It's none of our fault."

Our lieutenant goes up to the man, puts his hand on his shoulder, and
says, gently:--

"No, my lads, it's none of your fault."

Just then some sections join us who say, "We're the rearguard." And
some add that the two batteries of 75's up yonder are already captured.
A whistle rings out--"Come, march!"

We continue the retreat. There are two battalions of us in all--no
soldier in front of us; no French soldier behind us. I have neighbors
who are unknown to me, motley men, routed and stupefied, artillery and
engineers; unknown men who come and go away, who seem to be born and
seem to die.

At one time we get a glimpse of some confusion in the orders from
above. A Staff officer, issuing from no one knew where, throws himself
in front of us, bars our way, and questions us in a tragic voice:--

"What are you miserable men doing? Are you running away? Forward in
the name of France! I call upon you to return. Forward!"

The soldiers, who would never have thought of retiring without orders,
are stunned, and can make nothing of it.

"We're going back because they told us to go back."

But they obey. They turn right about face. Some of them have already
begun to march forward, and they call to their comrades:--

"Hey there! This way, it seems!"

But the order to retire returns definitely, and we obey once more,
fuming against those who do not know what they say; and the ebb carries
away with it the officer who shouted amiss.

The march speeds up, it becomes precipitate and haggard. We are swept
along by an impetuosity that we submit to without knowing whence it
comes. We begin the ascent of the second hill which appears in the
fallen night a mountain.