For several days in succession remnants of the routed army2 had been passing through the town. Formerly disciplined units had now turned into a disorganized rabble and separated from their regiments and colours, men with dirty, unkempt beards and uniforms in tatters now dragged their feet listlessly on. All the men looked crushed and exhausted, incapable of thought or resolve, marching out of sheer habit and collapsing with fatigue whenever they came to a halt. Bent under the weight of their rifles, they consisted mostly of reservists who until call-up were easy-going men used to minding their own business. These were combined with fit young conscripts, easily excited, easily scared and prone in equal measure to fight or flight. Mixed in with the latter and quickly identifiable by their red breeches were a few regulars, the remains of some division pulverized in battle, some sombrely uniformed gunners and a sprinkling of infantrymen of various sorts. The occasional glint of a helmet flashed as a dragoon lumbered clumsily in the steps of lighter soldiers of the line. Detachments of francs-tireurs3 also passed through, their bandit-like appearance contrasting vividly with their grandiose names: ‘Avengers of Defeat’, ‘Citizens of the Tomb’, ‘Brothers to the Death’. Their leaders were former drapers, corn-merchants, soap- and tallow-dealers, turned soldiers by force of circumstance and officers on the strength of a fat wallet or a long moustache. Armed to the teeth and covered in gold-braided flannel, in loud, boastful voices they discussed plans of campaign as if the burden of the dying homeland rested on their broad shoulders alone. In fact, however, they often went in fear of their own men who, though brave in the extreme, were often criminal characters to whom rape and pillage were second nature.

Rumour had it that the Prussians were on the point of entering Rouen. The National Guard4 who for the previous two months had been carefully reconnoitring the nearby woods, sometimes shooting their own sentries in the process and preparing for action whenever a rabbit stirred in the bushes, had now returned to their firesides. With them, the arms, the uniforms and the entire military apparatus which had made them the terror of the highroads for miles around, had all suddenly disappeared for good.

The last remaining French soldiers had finally crossed the Seine to reach Pont-Audemer via Saint-Sever and Bourg-Achard. In the rear, flanked by two staff-officers, their despairing general walked. Incapable of commanding this undisciplined mob, he was bewildered by the disarray in which his normally victorious nation now found itself and, despite the legendary courage shown, by the disastrous scale of its defeat.