All the roads leading back from the front were choked with refugees too weary, too heartbroken, too barren of hope to do anything but hurry their children before them and strain at their hand drawn, heavy carts piled high with the household belongings which they hoped to save. Old men, old women, the lame, the halt, the blind; dogs, cats, goats, with here and there a dogcart, all struggling to the rear. Many came empty-handed, facing they knew not what, and looking with pity upon the French troops who were moving forward to battle the enemy unto death. "Ah," said the refugees, shrugging their shoulders, "_finis la guerre!_ These poor Poilus of ours, they cannot stop the Boche. They are too tired, too worn with war. If only we had new blood. If only the Americans would come now. But no, perhaps it is now too late." Behind them, all too close, rumbled and roared the angry guns--guns of the enemy furrowing fields and leveling houses and villages; guns of the French in savage defiance protesting every inch of advance and holding on with a rapidly failing strength. Help must come now, quickly. And help came. Two American divisions, ready for action, were summoned by Foch to move forward with all possible speed. The 2nd Division came hurrying from their rest billets near Chaumont-en-Vexin, northwest of Paris; the 3rd Division came thundering by train and camion from Chateau-Villain, southeast of Paris. Two converging lines of fresh, eager warriors came marching, marching, the light of battle in their eyes and with rollicking, boisterous songs on their lips. At quick rout step they came. This was no parade; this was a new giant coming up to test its strength. And all up and down the brown columns the giant was singing as it came.... "Mademoiselle from Armentieres, _Parlez vous_, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, _Parlez vous_, Mademoiselle from Armentieres Hasn't been kissed for forty years, Hinkey Dinkey _Parlez vous_!" Slush, slog! Slush, slog! went the heavy hobnailed shoes slithering through the mud and water of the roads. Mile after mile, hour after hour. At the end of each weary hour a short rest, an easing of the shoulders from the cutting pack straps. Ten minutes only did they rest. Then down the long columns rang the sharp commands, "Fall in. Fall in! ... Com-pan-ee ... Atten-shun! Forward, March!" A few minutes in cadenced marching and then the command, "Rout step--March!" Again the confident, boisterous giant took up its song: "Good-bye Ma, good-bye Pa, Good-bye mule with your old he-haw. I may not know what the war's about But I bet by Gosh I soon find out! O, my sweetheart, don't you fear, I'll bring you a king for a souvenir. I'll bring you a Turk, and the Kaiser too, And that's about all one feller can do."