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There was something hypnotic, something tremendously wearisome to the
mind in those thick lines flowing sluggishly along in streams like
molten lead; in the hedges of gun barrels all slanting at the same
angle; in the same types of faces repeated and repeated countlessly; in
the legs which scissored by in such faultless unison and at each clip of
each pair of living shears cut off just so much of the road--never any
more and never any less, but always just exactly so much.
Our jaded and satiated fancies had been fed on soldiers and all the
cumbersome pageantry of war until they refused to be quickened by what,
half a week before, would have set every nerve tingling. Almost the
only thing that stands out distinct in my memory from the confused
recollections of the last morning spent in Louvain is a huge sight-
seeing car--of the sort known at home as a rubberneck wagon--which
lumbered by us with Red Cross men perched like roosting gray birds on
all its seats. We estimated we saw two hundred thousand men in motion
through the ancient town.


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