Where the Scheldt becomes Dutch property we were stopped by customs authorities and submitted to a rigorous examination.  Dutch officials for a time believed we were either Belgian or English officers escaping, but eventually they were satisfied.

Upon arriving at Flushing we found the town in a tremendous state of excitement.  Great crowds of refugees were there, 10,000 or more, and the hotels were choked.  Many wretched people had left their homes absolutely without any money and were forced to camp in the streets.  There was a vast crowd waiting to get on the Flushing-Folkestone boat, and it appeared we would be balked in our endeavor to get to England that night.  However, we discussed our position with the Superintendent of the line, and he very kindly got us a berth.

As the French Fell Back on Paris

By G.H.  Perris of The London Daily Chronicle.

[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

CHATEAU [Transcriber:  original ‘Chateau’] THIERRY, Sunday, Sept. 13.—­We first realized yesterday, in a little town of Brie which lies east of Paris, between the Seine and the Marne, how difficult it is to get food in the rear of two successive invasions.  As in every other town in the region, all the shops were shut and nearly all the houses.  It was only after a long search that we found an inn that could give us luncheon.

There, in a large room with a low-beamed roof and a tiled floor, our stout landlady in blue cotton produced an excellent meal of melon, mutton, macaroni, and good ripe pears.  Dogs and cats sprawled around us, and a big bowl of roses spoke of serenities that are now in general eclipse.  At a neighboring table a group of peasants, too old for active service, were discussing their grievances.

At a railway crossing just out of town we were blocked by a train of about a dozen big horse trucks and two passenger carriages, carrying wounded and prisoners to Paris from the fighting lines in the north.  It had been a gloomy morning, and the rain now fell in torrents.  Nevertheless the townsfolk crowded up, and for half an hour managed to conduct a satisfactory combination of profit and pity by supplying big flat loaves, bottles of wine, fruit, cigarettes, and jugs of water to those in the train who had money and some who had none.  One very old woman in white, with a little red cross on her forehead, turned up to take advantage of the only opportunity ever likely to fall in her way.  A great Turco in fez, blouse, and short, baggy breeches was very active in this commissariat work.

Some of the Frenchmen on board were not wounded seriously enough to prevent their getting down on the roadway; and you may be sure they were not ashamed of their plaster patches and bandaged arms.

There were about 300 German prisoners in the train.  We got glimpses of them lying in the straw on the floor in the dark interior of the big trucks.  I got on the footboard and looked into the open door of one car.  Fifteen men were stretched upon straw, and two soldiers stood guard over them, rifle in hand.  They all seemed in a state of extreme exhaustion.  Some were asleep, others were eating large chunks of bread.