Chapter 10

Naturally a light sleeper, I was constantly awakened by the coming and going and the conversation of our proprietress, who kept on packing right through the night. Another time I was roused by a bell ringing up and down the street, which passed beneath my window, and a deep masculine voice that enjoined all the people from Mery to hurry to the town hall. The wagons were leaving in a quarter of an hour.

"Poor fools," thought I, and rolled over in my bed.

As it grew light, I could gee the interminable stream of refugees passing up the road, and when I had dressed and hastened to the courtyard I found the others had already kindled a fire and tea was awaiting me.

"At what time should we start, Madame?"

"Start where?"

"I haven't the slightest intention of going any farther. Haven't you all had enough of this kind of traveling?"

The reply was affirmative and unanimous!

"The noise of the cannon is hardly audible this morning, which is a very encouraging sign, I'm sure, so we'll try to make ourselves comfortable until it's safe to go home."

And leaving Julie in charge, I set off by myself, glad of a moment's solitude.

In my wanderings I found the church door open, and entering, rejoiced in the peace that reigned within. It calmed my anxiety and as I withdrew my thoughts were clearer, and the burden of my responsibility seemed lightened.

On my way to the hotel I was accosted by a woman who, with a baby in her arms, was leading a cow behind her.

"Don't you want some milk?"

"I hardly think so."

"Please take it. You see, I've only saved my baby and my cow, and I have to milk the latter twice a day. I can't carry all she gives, so I keep what's necessary and throw the rest away. It seems like such a waste."

I agreed with her, and directed her towards the hotel court. She would take no remuneration and thanking me, hastened on her way.

As I watched her go someone touched me on the arm and asked me if I would go to the town hall; there were two refugees who needed assistance. There I found a very old couple, brother and sister, the eldest aged ninety-two, the other two years younger. They were from Mery, had lodged in a private house in Jouy, and were so decrepit that they had not arisen in time to catch the wagons which bore away their fellow townsmen the night before. That had so upset the old man that he had broken down and lay moaning on the straw, while the mild little woman explained that the being left behind was not what troubled her, but it was her purse and belongings that had been carried off in the carts.

I comforted them as best I could, promising to send them hot milk and biscuits, and wondering what else I could do for them. Any way they should not starve, as long as we remained in Jouy.

Luncheon was well under way when I returned to the hotel. In a pot, standing on an iron tripod in the middle of the paved court, a rabbit was gently stewing. In another, a fricassee of chicken smelled temptingly good. The women and girls were peeling potatoes and onions, which were to cook in the sauce and a peal of laughter went up from the merry group when a few moments later George and Emile appeared, covered with flour and dough from head to foot, and each bearing a bottle of white wine under his arm.

"What on earth have you boys been up to?"

"Behold in us the city bakers!" said George with a wave of the hand and he and his companion struck an attitude which again drew forth much hilarity from the onlookers.

"It's no joke--there wasn't a baker left in the place, so we found an old fellow who said he'd show us how, and the dough is now setting. By three o'clock we'll have fresh bread, you see if we don't!"

From the window the proprietress and her daughters watched our impromptu kitchen with interest. We formed such an amusing group that, handing my kodak to Leon, I told him to catch us as I bent over to taste the sauce.

Snap went the shutter!

At that same instant a shriek rose from the interior of the hotel. Looking up I saw that the proprietress and her two daughters had disappeared.

"_Au secours! Au secours!_"

The boys and I made a rush for the house. As we entered the _grande sale_, we saw a man bearing a human form in his arms staggering through the door. Through the blood and dust that smeared the unfortunate boy's clothing, I recognized the uniform of a chasseur. Not even an emergency bandage stopped the stream that was flowing from his cheek.

"Quick--a mattress!" I shouted.

The proprietress stood as though nailed to the doorway leading to the kitchen.

"Is he wounded?"

"No matter--a mattress!"

"But he might soil it--"

"Then I'll pay for it--but for the love of heaven, be quick!"

Just then the boy's head lurched forward and the blood poured from his mouth. Leon jumped to help the old man who was holding him, and I had just time to catch the proprietress as she swooned on the floor.

"Put the boy on the billiard table and stuff this blanket under his head," I said, grabbing the article mentioned from the top of a bundle near by. "Come in here!" I called to the two daughters who were blubbering in the next room, terrified at what they had seen. "Come in here--lay her flat, loosen her clothes, and dash some cold water over her. She's not dead and I've no time to bother with her."

While others laid the wounded man out on the table, I rushed for my emergency case which I had fortunately thought to bring along.

With a sharp pair of scissors, I cut away the bloody garments and with a little warm water washed my patient so I could see what was the matter. He was but half conscious, and his eyes rolled wildly and his hand grasped mine and wrung it in agony.

I discovered a tiny cheek wound and was congratulating myself that perhaps the bullet had lodged in the flesh, when on turning his head gently to one side, I was almost nauseated by the terrible wound that greeted my eyes.

Either a Mauser pistol or an explosive bullet fired at but short distance had entered the cheek and gouged its way through the lad's head, carrying away part of the ear and well--let us not go any further.

"Is there a doctor in the place still?" I called to the cook who stood looking in at the door. "Run and see if you can get him--for I'm incompetent here. Quick! It's life or death!"

And while she was gone I stuffed cotton and iodine into the tremendous cavity, hoping to stop the hemorrhage. As I bandaged, I questioned the man who had brought him.

"Where did you pick him up?"

"Amillis--a mile and a half from here. The Uhlans fired into me, too, when they saw me help him. Look at the sole of my shoe! They're following close on behind."

I stepped to the window. "George and Leon! Quick! Drop everything. Hitch and get out of here like lightning! I'll follow in this man's cart. Hitch and I'll tell you where to go."

Fricasseed chicken and rabbit stew were forgotten and I could hear my people running wildly about the court, obeying orders.

The doctor appeared. I explained. "Shall I unbandage?"

"Useless."

"Then don't say so out loud, as he's not yet unconscious."

The poor fellow gripped my hand as proof. The physician blushed scarlet.

"I'll give him an injection of ether and then you take him in your cart to the nearest hospital--it's Provins--twenty miles from here."

He jabbed in the needle, and then handing it with a phial to me: "Here--take this. I'm clearing out. Got a wife and baby to save. Keep his heart going--there's a ghost of a chance. Adieu!"

I stood petrified.

"Take him away, I'm closing up! Take him away--" screamed the hostess, who had recovered from her swoon.

I looked at the old man who had brought the boy.

"Where are you going with your cart?"

"To Coulommiers--to save my sister-in-law and her children."

"Good God, man! Can't you see that if this boy was wounded at Amillis your road to Coulommiers is cut off!"

"It may not be."

"There's no time to argue. My wagons are full to overflowing. Are you going to let this boy stay and be finished by the Germans, or are you going to let me put him in your cart and drive to a hospital?"

"But Provins must be occupied by this time. It's east of here."

"I never had any intention of going there. I'm heading for Melun."

"Melun?"

"Yes."

"Good heavens! That's seventy kilometers! My poor sister-in-law! My horse!" wailed the old fellow.

"Now then--one, two, three--" said I, gently patting my Browning which I had drawn from my outside pocket. "Will you do it gracefully? That's right. Now stop your crying. I'll release you as soon as I can find someone else to take me on. The important thing is to get out of here and quick! It may be too late now."

The boys had fetched a mattress, had found pillows and a sheet, somewhere, and gently we laid the dying man on the old farm cart.

"You boys take your bikes and go ahead. Tell the refugees you meet to pull to the right and not encumber the whole road. We're rushing a wounded man to the hospital. When I think you've got the way clear I'll drive on full speed. Tell our carts to head for Melun and keep on going till they get there. I can't bother with them. We'll meet at the first bridge over the Seine."

They departed, and climbing in beside my patient, who writhed in agony, now lurching from one side, now rolling to the other, I tried to make him as comfortable as possible. All the other carts had departed ere we got away, and my tearful driver kept on grumbling and lamenting.

Two hundred yards from the hotel, where the road makes a sharp turn, we halted abruptly, for we had come upon a group composed of my boy George and three French chasseurs. Two were on horseback, their naked swords glittering in the sunlight; the third on a bicycle--and all three, as well as George, were shrieking excitedly at a phlegmatic Tommy Atkins who, seated on a milestone, was calmly smoking his pipe. Behind him, his horse was peacefully nibbling grass. At the sight of my armlet and the agitated white sheet in the wagon, the chasseurs approached in haste.

"What have you got there? Our comrade, Ballandreau?"

"Yes." (I had seen the boy's name in his military book.)

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Badly wounded?"

"Yes."

"_Parlez-vous anglais?_" they fairly bawled, all three at once.

"Yes."

"Then, for God's sake, tell that blockhead sitting on the stone and whose horse has gone lame, to seize the bicycle of that peasant standing there, and follow us."

I translated politely.

"Why?" queried the Englishman, drawing on his pipe.

"Why?" I demanded of the chasseurs.

"Why? Do you see that?" said one on a bicycle, wheeling around and pointing down the road behind us. "Do you see that? That's the Uhlans. The ones that got Ballandreau a half-hour ago, the ones that got my horse and the ones that will get us all if we stop here much longer."

"The Uhlans!" I cried to Tommy, showing him the advancing forms of a half-dozen cavalrymen, whose black leather helmets shone in the sun a mile up the road.

"There are seven of them--on patrol--seven hundred following! Come, old fellow, it's now or never!"

"And I--where shall I go?" I said, jumping into the cart, George following.

"To the devil if you like, but quick!"

The warning came none too soon. We had been seen, and sharp, whizzing noises in the grass, and over our beads told us that our German pursuers had no intention of letting us get away.

"Down on your knees, man!" I yelled, pulling the old fellow with me as we ducked to the level of the dashboard. And unfastening a breastpin, I jabbed it mercilessly into the flanks of our nag, who bounded forward, nearly, throwing us out.

Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!

It was as if a cloud of locusts were bumming about us.

Then when I lifted my eyes, on top of the steep incline we were ascending, I could see several uniformed horsemen and back of them a huge column of smoke.

"Heavens!" I gasped, "we're caught this time--but it's too late now to turn about. We're prisoners for sure!"

Two cavalrymen then appeared and calmly started down the road in our direction. A second later I recognized the British uniform and breathed again.

"Go back!" I yelled. "Go back! The Germans are on our heels!"

Astonished at bearing their native tongue, the men approached.

"Thank heaven, here's someone to direct us," they said as they came alongside and saluted.

I replied with a nod.

"We're lost," they said, "cut off from our brigade."

"That's nothing. How many of you are there? Enough to fight? The Germans are coming on hard and fast."

"We're only two and our horses are done for. We were driven out of Coulommiers this morning."

My driver threw up his hands and sobbed.

"Our friend John's horse went lame and we left him at the bottom of the hill while we came up to reconnoiter. We can't leave him down there all alone."

"He's gone--gone--I swear it. Followed the French chasseurs on my bicycle, leading his mount!"

"Thank God!"

"Now then, how far the Germans will come is a question. They'll probably go in and occupy the town, and there's just one thing for us to do--bolt."

Whizz! Whizz! Whizz--the lead fairly splashed around us!

Leon and Emile rode back to say that the road ahead was clear.

"Les Boches," I said, pointing down the hill.

"Come on, you cowards!" yelled my boys defiantly, George brandishing the rifle of my wounded man.

"Oh, Madame, ask the Englishmen for their revolvers. They've got their rifles--that's five of us armed, and Monsieur's revolver makes six! It's almost man to man. Ah, please, Madame!" they implored.

In the excitement of the moment I nearly lost my head and consented. I was worked to such a point that any solution would have seemed a relief. The Britishers saw me put my hand in my pocket.

"No! No!" they pleaded. "You can't--if we're caught you won't be killed--but murdered, tortured! We're the only ones who have a right to fire!"

"But they've been peppering my cart regardless of my sex!"

"That's perhaps their way of waging war, but not ours. Now then, off you go--quickly."

We disappeared behind a clump of trees and tore down the clear road as fast as our horses would carry us. George sneaked back on his wheel to see if our aggressors were following, and came back radiant to announce that after coming halfway up the bill, they had turned about and were cantering to take possession of Jouy--as I had predicted.

"Where's our nearest barracks?" enquired one of the Scotsmen. (I now saw that I had to do with the Scots a little.) We slowed down a little.

"Where is our nearest barracks?" enquired one of the Scotsmen.

"How on earth do you expect me to know? Up until I met you I hardly realized there were any British troops on the continent!"

"Where are you bound for?"

"Melun. There's a big French garrison there in time of peace. You'll always be sure of getting orders there--unless we meet someone on the road."

They thought that was the best idea, and fell back, cantering behind my caravan with which I had now caught up.

On we trotted-up hill and down dale for several hours, my poor wounded boy still writhing on his bed of agony.

Towards four o'clock we had reached a long smooth stretch where we could see right and left for several miles over the plains. Presently, on a crossroad that ran perpendicular to ours, I spied a motor wagon. It was soon followed by another and then another, and pressing forward we reached the crossing in time to see Harrods' Stores, Whitley's, Swan & Edgar, and an interminable number of English Army supply motors coming straight towards us.

Knowing that it would be impossible to pass before the whole long line had gone by, I crossed over and now saw that the Scots Grays would soon find friends. I called Leon and pulling out a card, told him to pedal back and dig out a bottle of champagne I had hidden in our hay cart, and to present it to our soldier friends as a bracer and a souvenir. And then we pushed ahead.

Two minutes later, to my utter surprise, a heavy motor horn tooted on the road behind me and looking back, I saw a private car emerge from behind one of the English motors, and whirl down in our direction. It was a four-seater affair with but two occupants, a chauffeur and a woman wearing a streaming white veil.

"Quick!" I shrieked, grabbing the reins and pulling our cart full into the middle of the road. "They've got to take me and the boy to Melun!"

Seeing his deliverance so near, my old friend obeyed at once.

The motor, stupefied by our actions, slowed down.

"Get out of the way!" yelled the chauffeur. "Are you crazy! Out or I'll run you down!"

"Never! Look here. I don't care where you're bound for, but you've got to make room for me and a dying man in your machine. It's Melun--or nothing!"

"Wounded! Heaven, the Germans! We're caught! Go on, quick, quick, I say!" shrieked the woman.

The chauffeur made a movement as though to skid past us.

"No, you don't," I said, once again producing my trusty Browning.

The woman hid her face in her hands.

"Now then, either you can make room for us or I'll blow off your tires and you'll have to get down and walk like all the rest of us!"

My gray-headed driver was jubilant.

"That's right, Madame, you've hit it!" he encouraged.

There just wasn't any choice. The chauffeur got down and began piling the gasoline cans behind on the back seat to one side. Then, each of us grabbing a corner of the mattress, we hoisted the sufferer onto the machine, covering him with a sheet. Try as we would, though, we could not get him to bend his knees, and in consequence all during the trip the poor chauffeur received constant kicks from the agonized soul we were rushing towards surgical aid.

"Now then," I said, turning to my old driver. "Thank you for your cart, and bon voyage to Coulommiers. George, tell my people to meet me in Melun."

And hatless, coatless, with but one golden louis in my pocket (I had confided my bag to Julie when the wounded man had arrived at Jouy), I started on our record-breaking trip to Melun.

VII

It was an exciting trip, that race for life and death--for every moment I knew my wounded boy was growing weaker, and every convulsive kick meant the disappearance of so much life blood. During the numerous adventures which befell us between the time we left Jouy-le-Chatel and our encountering the motor, my hypodermic needle had received such violent treatment that it refused service. So when we turned into Mormont at top speed, I was obliged to ask my driver to slow down and inquire for a doctor. We were directed by a couple of gaping women on the borders of the little city, who didn't quite understand our mission. However, they must have been soon enlightened, for as we crossed the public square the British Red Cross ambulances were pouring in and lining up in battle array. Behind them came a steady stream of ammunition wagons, both horse and motor trucks, and from Mormont to Melun the line was unbroken.

The doctor was absent, but his wife willingly filled his place and with new hope dawning we backed out of the yard and sped southward.

What was the landscape we passed through I really couldn't say. I had a dreamy sensation of having run down a refugee's dog, and hearing its owner wishing us in warmer climes--as well as the feeling that my blood-stained apron and the agitated white sheet beside me created much curiosity among the drivers and occupants of the A. S. C. motors that took up all one side of the road.

One by one the mile posts whizzed past and finally we came into Melun.

"Where's the nearest hospital?" I enquired of a group of soldiers loitering outside a barracks.

"Give it up! All evacuated!"

Our driver needed no more--and so we pushed on into the town, while I pantomimed to those behind that I had a wounded man in my arms.

In front of the city hall stood a noisy gathering, and in reply to our questions, a middle-aged man jumped on to the step.

"Go ahead--I'll guide you. All the seven hospitals in Melun were transferred to Orleans this morning. The mixed hospital is all that is left."

After what seemed an interminable time we finally pulled up a long hill and after much parleying I succeeded in turning over my patient to the medical authorities.

Through the half open door of the little stuffy office where I was conducted I could see a white-aproned doctor and a nurse properly bandaging my boy. When my _compagnons de route_ had departed, I walked out into the ward and straight up to the bedside.

"Is there any hope?"

"Not one chance in a million! Would to heaven we had the right to spare them such suffering! Morphine is no longer helpful in his case!"

It was a shock to hear this. The lad, who a couple of hours before was unknown to me, suddenly became very dear. I turned about to hide my emotion, but was startled out of it by the double line of white beds on which were writhing men and boys in the most awful agony, yet not a sound broke from their lips. In the middle of the room a second doctor, a slight man with a pointed beard, stood washing his hands and then began drawing on a pair of long rubber gloves. He crossed over to a basin and, after sterilizing his instruments, looked around for an aid.

"Can I do anything for you, doctor?"

Not in the least surprised by my audacity he asked, "Are you a nurse?"

"No."

"Have you ever seen an operation."

"Yes."

I lied.

"Have you a good temperament?"

"Yes."

"Then come over here and hold this basin." I obeyed, and then Doctor Jean Masbrennier began a series of operations which will remain graven in my memory forever.

As he worked he talked--and informed me that the Red Cross Society had been hastily evacuated in the morning, doctors and all. Only those who were unable to be moved had been left behind, and only two civilian doctors were left to attend them. But one nurse remained to do all the bandaging. That was why I had been rung into service. It took but little time to find a mutual acquaintance in the person of Elizabeth Gauthier, and the doctor had long been familiar with H.'s work.

It would be useless to describe the horrors that I witnessed, or try to do justice to the heroic way those first glorious wounded of this lengthy war accepted their fate. I cannot, however, resist mentioning the endurance of a big black Senegalais, who won the admiration of both doctors and neighbors by refusing morphine or cocaine, and insisting on having the seven bullets that were lodged in his neck and throat withdrawn thus--never uttering a murmur!

When it was over, and we finally laid him back on his pillow, the tears were rolling down his cheeks and he squeezed my hand in his big black paw and then gently drew it to his lips.

How many wounded were there? I did not count. All I remember was that I promised to come the next day and write letters to wives, mothers and sweethearts of at least a dozen men and boys.

It was late when the last basin was emptied and Dr. Masbrennier untied his apron.

As we were washing up, I asked if he would be good enough to guide me out of the hospital and tell me where there was a respectable restaurant to which a woman might go alone.

"I have neither hat, coat, nor gloves. They're coming in the carts."

"That's so; perhaps you haven't had anything since lunch and I've been making you work on an empty stomach!"

"Worse than that!" I laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing since breakfast at Jouy-le-Chatel."

"Good God, woman!" And taking me by the arm, he hurried me down the hall.

As we passed out of the entrance door, a superior officer stopped Dr. Masbrennier and though I advanced out of earshot the words, "evacuation" and "to-night" were distinctly audible. A second later my companion caught up with me.