st everything. One place is
as good as another for a ruined man."

He did not speak emotionally. There was no thrill of despair in his
voice. It was as though he were telling me that he had lost his watch.

"That is my mother over there," he said presently, glancing towards
the old lady with the silver hair. "Our house has been burnt by the
Germans and all our property was destroyed. We have nothing left.
May I have a light for this cigarette?"

One young soldier explained the reasons for the Belgian debacle.
They seemed convincing:

"I fought all the way from Liege to Antwerp. But it was always the
same. When we killed one German, five appeared in his place. When
we killed a hundred, a thousand followed. It was all no use. We had to
retreat and retreat. That is demoralizing."

"England is very kind to the refugees," said another man. "We shall
never forget these things."

The train stopped at wayside stations. Sometimes we got down to
stamp our feet. Always there were crowds of Belgian refugees on the
platforms--shadow figures in the darkness or silhouetted in the light of
the station lamps. They were encamped there with their bundles and
their babies.

On the railway lines were many trains, shunted into sidings. They
belonged to the Belgian State Railways, and had been brought over
the frontier away from German hands--hundreds of them. In their
carriages little families of refugees had made their homes. They are
still living in them, hanging their washing from the windows, cooking
their meals in these narrow rooms. They have settled down as
though the rest of their lives is to be spent in a siding. We heard their
voices, speaking Flemish, as our train passed on. One woman was
singing her child to sleep with a sweet old lullaby. In my train there
was singing also. A party of four young Frenchmen came in, forcing
their way hilariously into a corridor which seemed packed to the last
inch of space. I learnt the words of the refrain which they sang at
every station:

A bas Guillaume!
C'est un filou
II faut le pendre
Il faut le pendre
La corde a son cou!

The young Fleming with a pale beard and moustache smiled as he
glanced at the Frenchmen.

"They have had better luck," he said. "We bore the first brunt."

I left the train and the friends I had made. We parted with an "Au
revoir" and a "Good luck!" When I went down to the station the next
morning I learnt that a train of refugees had been in collision at