As I Came Nearer To Belfort, I Saw The Guns Going At A Trot Down A
Side Road, And, A Little Later, I Saw Marching On My Right, A Long Way
Off, The Irregular Column, The Dust And The Invincible Gaiety Of The
French Line.
The sun here and there glinted on the ends of
rifle-barrels and the polished pouches.
Their heavy pack made their
tramp loud and thudding. They were singing a song.
I had already passed the outer forts; I had noted a work close to the
road; I had gone on a mile or so and had entered the long and ugly
suburb where the tramway lines began, when, on one of the ramshackle
houses of that burning, paved, and noisy endless street, I saw written
up the words,
Wine; shut or open.
As it is a great rule to examine every new thing, and to suck honey
out of every flower, I did not - as some would - think the phrase odd
and pass on. I stood stock-still gazing at the house and imagining a
hundred explanations. I had never in my life heard wine divided into
shut and open wine. I determined to acquire yet one more great
experience, and going in I found a great number of tin cans, such as
the French carry up water in, without covers, tapering to the top, and
standing about three feet high; on these were pasted large printed
labels, '30', '40', and '50', and they were brimming with wine.
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