One old man, nearly blind and very lame, sat forlornly at one end of the line. He pulled at an empty pipe. We gave him some tobacco--some fresh English tobacco. He knew that it was not French when he rolled it in his hand. So we explained the brand. We explained patiently, for he was very deaf. He was delighted. He had heard of English tobacco, but had never had any. He stuffed the pipe and eagerly lit it. He leaned back against the cold stone wall and puffed in ecstasy. Ah! this English tobacco _was_ good. He was fortunate. We glanced back along the line. As we looked several of the women shrank against the wall. One covered her eyes. Two French ambulances passed, carrying a wounded Zouave on a stretcher. A yard engine went shrieking across their path and the ambulanciers halted. The huddled figure under the blankets groaned horribly. Then the procession proceeded to our first ambulance. The men were on the seat, ready for the race against time to the hospital. After a few minutes the soldiers who had herded the refugees into the shed came again to herd them out--back to the cattle cars. I asked one of the soldiers where they were going. He waved his hand vaguely toward the south. "_Là bas_," he muttered. He didn't know exactly. They were going somewhere--that was all. There was no place for them here. This station was for wounded. And would they ever return? He shrugged his shoulders. I looked at the forlorn procession sloshing across the yards. The rain beat harder. It was almost dark; the yard lamps threw dismal, sickish gleams across the tracks. The old man with the tobacco brought up the rear, helped along by an old woman hobbling on a stick. We heard the voice of the Medical Major bawling for "_les ambulances Américaines_." We looked behind into the gloom of the gare; a procession emerged--stretchers with huddled forms under blankets. As far down the yards as we could see--just on the edge of the night, those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme were climbing slowly into the cattle cars. FOOTNOTE: [5] All numerals relate to stories told herein--not to chapters in the book. "PRIESTS IN THE FIRING LINE"--THE CROSS AND CRUCIFIX _A Reverend Father in the French Army_ _By Réné Gaell--Translated by H. Hamilton Gibbs and Madame Berton_ This is the revelation of the soul of a priest, who heard "the call to duty" and went to the battle lines to fight for his country and to relieve the suffering. He tells about his experiences at "A Soldier's Death Bed"; "Mass Under Shell Fire"; "Absolution Before the Battle"; "The Blood of Priests"; "How They Die"; "Confession on a Parapet"; "The Blessed Sacrament"; and "The Last Blessing." The chapters here given on "His Call to Duty" and "The Story of a Wounded Man" is by permission of his publishers, _Longmans, Green and Company_. [6] I--STORY OF A PRIEST'S "CALL TO DUTY" "It's no joke, this time," said my old friend the General.