LAND AND \\Ali:.K 
11 \j V ^ 111 L'v-i -*-*• ^ y *■ ^ 
AN ARTIST AT THE FRONT. 
By G. Spencer Pryse. 
INDIANS AND MOTOR BUSES, NEAR POPERINGHE. 
[B} C. Sflnctr Pry St. 
WE left Antwerp one morning in September. 
It was necessary that we should be in 
Bordeaux next day. The first hght of 
dawn shone behind the high cathedral spire 
as we rattled down on to the quay. Sentries 
muffled in sombre greatcoats, challenged and presented 
arms. Then we crossed the Escaut by that marvellous 
switchback bridge of boats that will always remain for 
me one of the wonders of the world. 
There was an armoured car available to escort us 
through the danger zone. But I agreed, with my friend, 
that it would be better to rely solely upon his superior 
skill as a driver, and the great power of his racing 
Mercedes. Once clear of the fortifications we took the 
clearest road, making inquiries at each post, for it was im- 
possible to say from hour to hour exactly where the enemy 
might be. Pre="itly it became necessary to retrace our 
path and make " "nde detour to the n:)rth, by tortuous 
pave lanes and .imumerable villages. Everywhere men 
of the garde civique in queer eighteenth-century top hats 
and tight-waisted greatcoats stood about, or sat at tables 
in front of the wayside estaminets, their arms piled 
beside the road. At times progress was rendered almost 
impossible by the presence of herds of cattle, driven in 
from the invaded country to the south. Many times also 
the road was blocked by refugees on foot and in every sort 
of vehicle, their hopes .set upon Ostend and the sea. 
Clusters of Belgian cavalry held the cross roads, their 
officers shouting directions as we went by. Nearly every 
cottage had its flag. The people, in holiday dress, 
thronged the streets. It was late when we crossed over 
the frontier, slipping along the coastline by Dunkirk. 
In Belgium the sentries had been gay and irrespon- 
sible like schoolboys ; covering one with large obsolete 
fire-arms while waiting the mot d'ordre, in a manner that 
certainly did not imply any ner\ousness as far as they 
personally were concerned. In France, on the other hand, 
the sentries, elderly men for the most part, with the 
memory of another war in their minds, spoke very . 
seriously. And we assured them always that the news, 
was excellent, but there was no time for us to stay and 
tell it. It was late afternoon. We pushed deeper inta 
the Pas de Calais. The roads improved, and as time went 
by the barricades became rare, and then ceased altogether. 
The country in front was no man's land. Every town 
open. There were no troops. The enemy, sweeping 
westward and southward, had driven all before him. 
Our path lay between his flank about Amiens and the 
sea. 
The road glimmered white and empty to the horizon. 
Now and then a shuttered house flew by. Even the inns 
were shut up. Somewhere we overtook a f,'J:tle. party 
of black-robed men, bobbing up and down like a chister 
of rooks as they hurried along with their small bimdles,. 
in evident terror at our approach. After that we saw 
no more people. Once, in the waning afternoon, a tali 
column of smoke stood up, far away to the south. Then 
another, right ahead, rising in great swirls from a cluster 
of poplars close beside the road, looking very ominous 
and black against the sunlit sky. It was a farmhouse, 
burning merrily, but not a living soul was to be seen. 
Night came upon us as we ran through Abbeville to 
Rouen. Setting out in the very early morning, we left 
the war behind, travelling by Alengon and Le Mans,, 
and Tours, and Poictiers, and Angouleme to Bordeaux. 
For me that day was not without its surprise. Since I 
left England I had seen no body of English troops. 
The Expeditionary Force had vanished into space. 
But at Le Mans the great cathedral square was filled 
with British infantry, and in the shadow of the vast 
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