In proof of his words, ambulances and requisitioned carriages filled with the sick and infirm were already proceeding up one of the side streets.

“It’s not human, though!” Marta exclaimed in the desperation of helplessness.

“No, it is war, which has a habit of being inhuman,” replied the major, turning to call to a woman:  “Now, madame, if you leave that pillow behind you will not be dropping your other things and having to stop all the time to pick them up!”

“But it’s the finest goose feathers and last year’s crop!” said the woman; and then gasped:  “Oh, Lord!  I left my silver jug on the mantel!”

“As I’ve told you before—­as the printed slips we distributed when we woke you at dawn told you,” said the major with some asperity, “you were to take only light things easily portable, and after you had gone, wagons would get what you had packed and left ready at the door of your houses, with your names clearly marked, up to two hundred pounds.  The rest we trust to the mercy of the Grays.”

There was nothing for Marta to do but start homeward.  The thought that her mother was alone made her hasten at a pace much more rapid than the procession of people, whose talk and exclamations formed a monotone audible in its nearness, despite the continuous rifle-fire, now broken by the pounding of the guns.

“I wish I had brought the clock—­it was my great-grandfather’s.”

“Johnny, you keep close to me!”

“And they’ve taken my wife off to the hospital—­separated us!”

Some were excruciatingly alive to the situation; others were in a daze.  But one cry always roused them from their complaints; always brought a flash to the dullest eye:  Retribution! retribution!  Taken from their peaceful pursuits arbitrarily by the final authority of physical force, which they could not dispute, their minds turned in primitive passion to revenge through physical force.

“I hope our army makes them pay!”

“Yes, make them pay!  Make them pay!”

“It’s all done to beat the Grays, isn’t it, Miss Galland?  They are trying to take our land,” said Jacky Werther as Marta parted from him.

“Yes, it is done to beat the Grays,” she answered.  “Good luck, Jacky!”

Yes, yes, to beat the Grays!  The same, idea—­the fighting nature, the brute nature of man—­animated both sides.  Had the Browns really tried for peace?  Had they, in the spirit of her oath, appealed to justice and reason?  Why hadn’t their premier before all the world said to the premier of the Grays, as one honest, friendly neighbor to another over a matter of dispute: 

“We do not want war.  We know you outnumber us, but we know you would not take advantage of that.  If we are wrong we will make amends; if you are wrong we know that you will.  Let us not play tricks in secret to gain points, we civilized nations, but be frank with each other.  Let us not try to irritate each other or to influence our people, but to realize how much we have in common and that our only purpose is common progress and happiness.”