There was real news to be gleaned from these unfortunates who came into the station at Amiens soon after the boys took their places there with some of the other scouts of the troop. Women, children and old men—not a young man was among them, of course—they poured from the freight cars that in the main they occupied. And they were willing to talk; more than willing, indeed. They told of how the Germans had come. First the Uhlans riding through, stern and silent, willing to leave the inhabitants alone, as a rule, if they themselves were let alone. Then the infantry, rolling along in great grey masses. And with them came the spoiling of the countryside.
"They took everything—food, wine, everything our army had not had," said one woman to Frank and Henri, as she walked through the streets with them. Frank was carrying her baby for her. "They left us with nothing! And then they burned all the houses in my street because, they said, there must be clear space for their guns to fire!"
It was a simple matter to distribute these poor refugees. The town of Amiens had troubles of its own but it forgot them now, and set itself doggedly to work the relief of the far more acute distress of those from the countryside to the north and east. Always the stories of those who had fled before the German hosts were the same.
"The Germans haven't got an army!" cried Henri, bitterly. "It's a war machine they send against us! They do not fight like men, but like railroad trains!"
They were learning more in this task of escorting the refugees than all the bulletins had been able to tell them. No censors could close the mouths of these poor people, and they were not only willing to talk—they craved listeners.
"It makes it easier to bear what we have suffered when we know that others know what the Germans have done," said the woman with the baby. "We women—we gave our husbands, and those who had sons gave their sons. Now we have given all to France. Let the men win back enough for us to live—that is all that we ask."
They did not know the meaning of the military movements they had seen. Indeed, they had not seen military movements in the strict sense of the word. All they knew was that soldiers, first in one uniform, then in another, had passed through their villages, first going north and east, then south and west. They had heard firing, dim and in the distance at first, but coming always nearer. Then the tide of battle had rolled by. That was all they knew.
But to boys who from the beginning of the war had followed every move on the great chessboard of the struggle, these things meant knowledge for which the editors of newspapers would have given fortunes. In Paris they had had a great map, and every day they had shifted the tiny flags that showed where the troops were. They had flags for each of the allies and for the Austrians and Germans at first. Later they had become more particular. They had worked out as well as they could the different armies, even to the army corps, and had marked their flags accordingly. And so this exact knowledge of where troops of particular commands had been, made it possible for them, when there was time for them to go home, to make changes in the positions of the little flags that dotted their map.
When they had finished doing that they looked at one another.
"The French and the English are retreating," said Henri, soberly. "You were right, Frank. They fought on the line of Mons to Charleroi in Belgium, and then they began running away."
"Not exactly that, either," said Frank. "Look here—look at the map, Henri. There is Paris. There is a great army there under General Gallieni. There are enormous fortifications. That is the great base. There is this line with three fortresses—Rheims, La Fere, Laon, with other forts between them. That backed the centre when the French army retired from the border. But there is another army on the left of that line—because, if the Germans get around the left, behind that line of fortresses, they could be surrounded."
"But they could be defended—"
"Yes, as Bazaine defended Metz—until he was starved out," said Frank. He was beginning to be excited. "I think I see what may happen, Harry. The German right is moving out, always—far out, toward the sea. It wants to get around our left, and cut it off. If it gets between our left and Paris, there will be a disaster—another Sedan, perhaps. That is why there is a retreat. It is necessary. We are not ready to fight yet. But wait!"
"Wait! Wait? Is that the thing for French soldiers to do? That is not how Napoleon won his battles! He struck—and he struck first!"
"Never until he was sure of victory."
"But if they keep on retreating, they will be south of here! The Germans can take Amiens, if they like!" exclaimed Harry in much alarm.
"What of it? It will be sad for Amiens, but it will do the Germans no good. Amiens has no strategic value. Less than Rheims or Laon—and we know now that the Germans have them both, though that has not been in the bulletins."
"Then why are troops going south? The troops from here?"
"We don't know where they are going, Henri. They start south but perhaps they turn, and go to re-enforce the centre. Don't you suppose our generals have their plans, too? You spoke of Napoleon. Don't you remember the march to Moscow? How the Russians retreated, always, and drew him on? And what happened then, when they were ready to fight?"
Frank had awakened a memory terrible for any Frenchman. But there was no more time for argument. The telephone rang out sharply and Henri went to answer it. M. Marron was on the wire. When Henri returned his eyes were shining.
"We are wanted. Perhaps it is for real work," he said, happily. "He wanted to know if we could both speak English—if I could, that is. None of the other scouts can do that, he says, and so we are to report at once. Oh, I wonder what can be wanted?"
"Well, the best way to find out is to go and see," said Frank, practically.
M. Marron was ready for them when they reached him. He was no longer in his khaki scoutmaster's garb, but in his uniform of captain of the line.
"You are to report to Colonel Menier," he said, briefly. "I do not know what service is required of you. I can only say to you, do your best. My orders have come. I join my regiment to-day. From this moment the troop of Boy Scouts of Amiens has no organization, until such time as it can be restored. Each scout must act for himself, taking his orders whenever it is possible from officers of the army. When he has no such orders he must use his own best judgment. Before you report to Colonel Menier you are to wait here—I intend to address all the scouts of the troop."
They had not long to wait before the other scouts arrived. At the sight of the scoutmaster in his uniform they cheered him heartily.
"Scouts!" he said, speaking in French, when all were there. "I leave you now, for the fatherland has called me to its service in ways different from those to which I have been assigned so far. I leave you free to your own devices. But you are free only in name. You are bound by your scout oath, by your scout law. You are bound by those principles of honor which the scouts teach and enforce. Never forget them!
"While you are still boys, before it is time for France to call you to the army, the enemy thunders at our gates. In our millions we have risen to repel them, to drive the iron heel of the invader from France, France the beautiful, the loved of all! It is for you, as for all who are worthy of the name of Frenchmen, to help in that great work, to make sacrifices, to do your part.
"But your part gives you no right to fight. You are to bear no arms. That does not mean you have no service to render to your native land; that France does not ask anything of you. She asks much; she expects much from the Boy Scouts.
"It may be you can do most by quietly filling the place made vacant in your home—made vacant by father or older brother gone to serve in the ranks. It may be your privilege to aid in caring for the wounded as they come back to their homes from the scene of conflict. It may be you will find a place to help on the battlefields. But wherever you are, whatever you do, remember that Scouts are ever faithful, ever loyal, ever true to the trust reposed in them.
"It is cowardly to shirk a duty. Perform your part in the struggle as becomes true Scouts—as becomes men who have been born and reared in our fair France.
"Mark my word well. So, if I am spared to return to you, after the war, I shall meet all of you again, and I shall be able to grasp the hand of each one of you, and say: 'Well done! You have deserved well, you of France and of the Boy Scouts Francais!'"
His sword flashed from his scabbard, and he held it stiffly to the salute. Then sheathing it, he turned and stamped from the room. He went with a high head and a happy heart to the service of the land he loved—as millions of Frenchmen had gone or would go.
There was silence when he had gone. Quietly the scouts melted away to the tasks they had in hand. The words of their departing leader had made a great impression on them. Nor had his reminder of what they should and should not do against the Germans been unnecessary.
"I suppose he must be right," said Henri, a little wistfully. "I shall obey. But I had hoped that I might have a shot at a few Germans! Frank, I have practiced so often with my rifle! I have killed hawks and rabbits—"
"Let's find Colonel Menier," said Frank. "We can hurt the Germans far more, I expect, by obeying orders than by killing a few. It is not the killing of a few men that will settle this war, Henri! War is bad—war is terrible. Let us not make it worse."
Then they went to the barracks, inquiring, as they had been told to do, for Colonel Menier. Soon they were brought to him, a busy, tired looking officer of the staff. He eyed them keenly.