They travelled on. All the houses were covered with flags. They stopped a long while at several of the stations, because there was a block of trains everywhere. Troops were hastening from all sides of Germany to reinforce their brothers in arms. The trains were swathed in green wreaths, and the Lancers had decorated their lances with the bunches of flowers given them on the way. The majority of these Lancers also were Poles. More than one conversation and greeting was heard passing from carriage to carriage: 'How are you, old fellow, and where is God Almighty leading you?' Meanwhile to the accompaniment of the train rumbling along the rails, the well-known song rang out:-- 'Flirt with us, soldiers! dears!' Cried the girls of Sandomierz. And soon Bartek and his comrades caught up the refrain:-- Gaily forth the answer burst: 'Bless you, dears! but dinner first!' As many as had gone out from Pognębin in sorrow were now filled with enthusiasm and spirit. A train which had arrived from France with the first batch of wounded, damped this feeling of cheerfulness, however. It stopped at Deutz, and waited a long time to allow the trains hurrying to the seat of war to go by. The men were marched across the bridge _en route_ for Cologne. Bartek ran forward with several others to look at the sick and wounded. Some lay in closed, others in open carriages, and these could be seen well. At the first glance our hero's heart was again in his mouth. 'Come here, Wojtek,' he cried in terror. 'See how many of our countrymen the Frenchmen have done for!' It was indeed a sight! Pale, exhausted faces, some darkened by gunpowder or by pain, or stained with blood. To the sounds of universal rejoicing these men only responded by groans. Some were cursing the war, the French and the Germans. Parched lips called every moment for water, eyes rolled in delirium. Here and there, amongst the wounded, were the rigid faces of the dead, in some cases peaceful, with blue lines round their eyes, in others contorted through the death struggle, with terrifying eyes and grinning teeth. Bartek saw the bloody fruits of war for the first time, and once more confusion reigned in his mind. He seemed quite stupefied, as, standing in the crowd, with his mouth open, he was elbowed from every side, and pomelled on the neck by the police. He sought Wojtek's eyes, nudged him, and said, 'Wojtek, may Heaven preserve us! It's horrible!' 'It will be just the same with you.' 'Jesu! Mary! That human beings should murder one another like this! When a fellow kills another the police take him off to the magistrate and prison!' 'Well, but now whoever kills most human beings is to be praised. What were you thinking of, Blockhead: did you think you would use gunpowder as in the manœuvres, and would shoot at targets instead of people?'