Then, all
at once, a railway official--it may have been M. Piquet himself--rushed
along the platform in the direction of the engine, shouting as he went:
"Depechez! Depechez! Sauvez-vous!" At the same moment a stray artilleryman
was seen hastening towards us; but suddenly there came a terrific crash of
glass, a shell burst through the roof and exploded, and the unlucky
artilleryman fell on the platform, evidently severely wounded. We were
already in motion, however, and the line being dear, we got fairly swiftly
across the viaduct spanning the Sarthe. This placed us beyond the reach of
the enemy, and we then slowed down.
One or two more trains were got away after ours, the last one, I believe,
being vainly assailed by some Uhlans before it had crossed the viaduct.
The latter ought then to have been blown up, but an attempt to do so
proved ineffectual. We went on very slowly on account of the many trains
in front of us. Every now and again, too, there came a wearisome stop. It
was bitterly cold, and it was in vain that we beat the tattoo with our
feet in the hope of thereby warming them. The men with me were also
desperately hungry, and complained of it so bitterly and so frequently,
that, at last, I could not refrain from producing a little bread and meat
which I had secured at Le Mans and sharing it with them.
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