Presently we begin to see German prisoners. The whole lot look entirely
contented, and are guarded by perhaps a couple of men in khaki. These
German prisoners do not attempt to escape, they have not the slightest
desire for any more fighting, they have done their bit, they say, honour
is satisfied; they give remarkably little trouble. A little way further
on perhaps we pass their cage, a double barbed-wire enclosure with a few
tents and huts within.
A string of covered waggons passes by. I turn and see a number of men
sitting inside and looking almost as cheerful as a beanfeast in Epping
Forest. They make facetious gestures. They have a subdued sing-song going
on. But one of them looks a little sick, and then I notice not very
obtrusive bandages. "Sitting-up cases," my guide explains.
These are part of the casualties of last night's fight.
The fields on either side are now more evidently in the war zone.
The array of carts, the patches of tents, the coming and going of men
increases. But here are three women harvesting, and presently in a
cornfield are German prisoners working under one old Frenchman. Then
the fields become trampled again. Here is a village, not so very much
knocked about, and passing through it we go slowly beside a long column
of men going up to the front. We scan their collars for signs of some
familiar regiment.
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