The road grew wilder and wilder and took on the air of a burnt-out
moor, mile after mile of grey, stricken grass, old iron, and large
upturned stones. Wherever a pair of blasted trees was left at the road's
side a notice hung in mid-air, on wires slung from tree to tree
across the road.
"Halt--Autos!" shouted the square, black, German orders from the boards
which swung and creaked in the wind.
"Nach Verdun," said the monster black arrows painted on trees and stone,
pointing, thick, black and steady, till it seemed that the ghost of the
German endeavour still flung itself along the road. "Nach Verdun! Nach
Verdun!" without a pause, with head down. "Nach Verdun," so that no one
might go wrong, go aside, go astray, turn back against the order of the
arrow. Not an arrow anywhere answered "Nach Metz."
For miles and miles nothing living was to be seen, neither animal, nor
motor, nor living man; only the stray fires of the Chinese fluttered
here and there like blue and red marsh fires a mile or so back from the
main road. Once as she flew along she shied like a horse and twisted the
wheel as a wild screaming and twittering rose at the side of the car,
and glancing back she saw three figures wriggle and laugh in mockery and
astonishment. They had risen round the embers of a dead fire, and stood
swaying on their feet and showing white teeth in orange faces.
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