Chapter 6

While the women prepared the meal, George had taken the men to the wash-house, where soap and water worked miracles on their dusty faces; one by one all the members of the group disappeared in that direction and when they gathered around the long table in the refectory, it was altogether a different company to that of an hour before.

As they sat down it came over me that none of us had eaten since the night before, and dropping onto a chair, I suddenly realized that I was tired. Berthe and Nini, however, wanted to know where I would lunch, and were rather startled when I informed them to lay a cloth on the kitchen table and to bring out all the cold meat, cheese, bread, butter and jam in the larder. It would be a stand-up picnic lunch for everyone to-day, and what was more, it was very likely to be picnic dinner; so Julie was ordered to put two chickens to roast and some potatoes to boil--both needed but little attention and would always be ready when we might need them.

The meal passed in silence in both rooms, and the "washing up" was done in no time. Then as they all retired to take their naps, the man who had first asked me if they might turn into the chateau, and who seemed to be the leader of the party, came into the kitchen and, hat in hand, begged a word or so with me.

He had come not only to express the gratitude of his compatriots, but also his astonishment that I should welcome strangers so cordially. I tried to side-track the conversation which was very embarrassing, but he would hear none of it.

"We are not gypsies, you know, Madame." I smiled and told him that that was more than evident. "Look at our horses and our dogs!" And the good fellow proceeded to inform me that he was the keeper of a big estate that belonged to Madame Pyrme (sister of the senator of that name), situated in the little village of Hanzinell, Belgium. He even offered to show his papers, but I shook my head. His open-hearted sincerity and frank countenance were sufficient.

But why had they come away? That was what interested me.

Because their country was invaded and one by one the towns and villages had been bombarded, looted and burned until little or nothing remained. Because all men under fifty were carried away as hostages or prisoners; because he had seen little children slain, and young girls tortured; because anything was better than falling helpless into the hands of such an enemy.

"Madame, at Charleroi I've seen the blood running in the gutters like rain after a storm and that not a week ago!"

It was impossible not to believe him. His eye was not that of a coward. He told his story simply; he was almost reticent, and I had even to encourage him at times to make him finish a phrase. Finally I asked him where he intended going, and why so far away. Didn't he think he was safe here?

No--_jamais!_ Yesterday in the night they had heard the cannon growing closer and closer. They knew the sound. The Germans were advancing. It was Paris they wanted and nothing would stop them till they reached their goal.

"Except the French army," I said, with pride.

"God grant you speak the truth, Madame!" But in the meantime he seemed to consider that one was far safer in the way of some gigantic mowing-machine than on the path of the German army. He had come to tell me the truth and to warn me that I ought to make ready to leave.

"You are helpless here, Madame. Three women, three little girls, and two boys! It's tempting fate."

I couldn't seem to see it his way, however. The papers though very mysterious, had given us no cause for alarm. As yet we had not seen a single trooper. If it were true that the French were retreating we would leave when the army appeared. That would be time enough.

"Why, my good fellow," I said reassuringly, "if the Germans ever reach here Paris is doomed--and the war will be over!"

"Perhaps--"

"Besides, I can't go. I've got a hospital on my hands, though the wounded are lacking. Haven't you seen our Red Cross flag? And if that isn't sufficient, I can prove that I'm an American born. That ought to be protection enough for anyone!"

I must admit that the incredulous smile that rose to his lips rather angered me, and I sought still another excuse.

"Furthermore, one of my little maids is too ill to move, and I don't see us walking off with folded arms, and that's what would happen if I followed your advice, for the only horse the Army has left me is over twenty and so lame that he can't walk two steps. If he could I'd have had to present him for the second inspection at Chateau Thierry on Wednesday."

The poor fellow shook his head at my apparent foolhardiness, but was too polite to argue further. He said that his party would be off in an hour and asked me if I possessed a road-map that he might consult. I gladly showed him the one we had bought with H. the day of our hasty trip from Paris, since then pinned to the wall of the refectory. I noticed that he studied it very carefully, noting all the little sidetracks where he thought his drays could pass, and thus avoid following in line behind the thousands of other vehicles that encumbered the main roads.

Again he thanked me for all I had done, caressed my beautiful greyhounds, and left me his card so that we might meet when all was over. Afterwards when I went into the court, I heard someone in the stable with George, and looking in, I saw my friend of a few moments before examining my horse's hoof and telling my boy what would make the sore heal quickly. He was bound to do his best for me!

By five o'clock the stables and grounds were empty, and our friends gone. Hanzinell had joined the column which had slackened a bit during the heat of the day, but had redoubled in volume since the sun had gone behind the hills.

We had a moment's breathing space, during which we gave our entire attention to Yvonne, who was writhing with agony on her bed next my room. For three days now Madame Guix had administered mild doses of morphine, but that treatment could not continue very long. Water bags, friction and massage had proved fruitless against sciatica, so we resolved to try a warm bath, with the result that our patient was almost immediately eased but too weak to support the heat. She fainted in the tub and had to be carried back to bed. We were still working over her when Nini appeared and said I was wanted below. When Yvonne's eyelashes began to flutter, I left Madame Guix and regained the kitchen, now become the head-quarters.

More refugees! Would I let them come in? They were traveling without a map or guide and dared not venture along the roads at night.

Of course they were welcome, and the same hospitalty that had greeted the refugees from Hanzinell was offered to those from Thuilly-the whole village was there!--mayor, curate, smith and baker, all accompanied by different members of their immediate families, driven from home by the cruel invaders. Terrified by the horrors they had witnessed, exhausted by their perilous journey, they were disinclined to talk; and as for myself, I was so busy, preoccupied and thoroughly spent, that curiosity was forgotten. Here were people in need of what comforts I could offer. I gave and asked no questions.

What was most evident at present was the fact that rations were shorter among this party than among those who had stopped in the morning, and certainly not for the lack of funds. All of them had money--gold a-plenty.

They had found less to buy--_voila tout_. They were glad to accept the vegetable soup, rabbit stew and cooked fruit that we had prepared but insisted on paying for their portions, which of course I refused, much to their dismay, and I am certain the servants were well repaid for their trouble.

And what were their plans? To go as far south as possible. Perhaps they would eventually cross to Morocco or Canada. Why not? The whole village was there--all the men had their trades. They would colonize, for it was useless to think of going "home." They no longer possessed one, and who could tell--the war might last a year or more?

At that assertion I protested. A year? Never! Why, the finances of the country couldn't stand it, and I went on to state how, when in England during the Agadir crisis three years previous, I had heard competent authorities state that three months was the very limit for the duration of hostilities! That somewhat cheered them--especially as I announced the Russian advance, and on the map we noted the rapid progress of the famous "steam roller," which, if it continued as it had begun, would certainly reach Berlin by Christmas! (I offer these statements without comment.)

Before they retired Madame Guix asked if there were any who felt the slightest ill, for it were better to nip sickness in the bud, and she cheerfully lanced festers and pricked blisters, bathed, powdered and bandaged the feet of some dozen old and decrepit men and young children unaccustomed to such forced marching and unable to take proper care of themselves for want of time and hot water! At that moment I felt she was heroic and I must say I admired her patience and endurance, for the sights witnessed were anything but agreeable. Poor souls! And they hoped to reach Marseilles on foot.

The Kaiser and his entire army might have ridden over us rough shod and we would have felt nothing, so soundly did we sleep for the first couple of hours after we touched our beds. By two A. M. (September first), however, there was much moving about in the barns and stables, and my dogs, who were restless, began scratching at my door to be released. Anxious that no one leave without a cup of hot coffee, Madame Guix and I repaired to the kitchen as dawn broke, and an hour later we bade farewell to our "lodgers for a night." I bethought me of my kodak, and as the sun peeped through the clouds I caught a snapshot of my departing guests as they turned the corner of the chateau.

They joined in behind the stream of other carts which we were now accustomed to seeing. In fact, this general exodus no longer astonished us. It seemed as if the panic had spread over the whole of Flanders like a drop of oil on a sheet of paper. To us, who consider ourselves as living in the suburbs of Paris, Belgium is so far away!

I wound off my film and was returning towards the house, when two very distinguished looking girls stepped off their bicycles and asked for directions. I gave them with pleasure and in turn ventured a few questions.

They were from St. Quentin! That startled me. They had been _en route_ two days. They had not seen the Germans, but the town had been officially evacuated. A man on a bicycle had sped by them the day before and announced the bombardment and destruction of their native city! Hard fighting at La Fere.

St. Quentin! Then the Germans were on our soil! The Belgians were right--they were evidently advancing rapidly. But why worry? We were safe as long as we had the French army between us and them.

Thought as yet the day was but a couple of hours old, I was weary. This business of hotel-keeping on so large it scale with so little assistance was beginning to tell on my strength. I opened the gate and told George and Leon to welcome any who wished to come in, and then repairing to the kitchen, I sat down and began helping the others prepare vegetables. The discovery that in spite of all their good will guests had necessarily left many traces of their passage, brought me to my feet again, and we were all hard at work when a haggard female face looked in at the kitchen window.

"Is there a doctor here?"

"No,--but--"

The woman burst into tears. Madame Guix and I hurried out into the court. "My baby--I can't seem to warm her," moaned the poor mother. "She hasn't eaten anything since yesterday."

And stretching out her arms, the woman showed us an infant that she had been carrying in her apron. It was dead.

I had difficulty in overcoming my emotion, but Madame Guix took the poor little corpse into her arms, and I helped the mother to an arm chair in the refectory.

A cup of strong coffee brought back a little color to her wan cheeks and she told us she was from Charleville. The Taubes had got in their sinister work to good advantage among the civil population but they were merely the forerunners of another and heavier bombardment. The townspeople had fled in their night clothes.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes--I'm not a native of Charleville. My husband and I have only been married a year. He left the second of August and the baby was born the tenth. She's only three weeks old."

No wonder the mother looked haggard--one hundred and fifty miles on foot, with a newborn infant in her arms, fleeing for her life before the barbarous hordes!

I pressed another cup of coffee with a drop of brandy in it upon her. She looked appealingly at both of us and then drank.

"Was your husband good to you?" asked Madame Guix.

"Ah, yes, Madame."

"Do you love him well enough to endure another sacrifice like a true wife and mother that you are?"

"Yes."

And then we told her that her baby bad gone--gone to a brighter Country where war is unknown. She looked at us in amazement, and burying her head on her arm, sobbed silently but submissively.

"Come, come, you must sleep--and when you are rested we will help you to find room in a cart which will take you towards your parents."

She cast a long, loving look at her first born, and let herself be led away.

All we could do was to make an official declaration of the death at the town hall. A small linen sheet served as shroud, a clean, flower-lined soap box formed that baby's coffin, and Greorge and I were the grave diggers and chief mourners, who laid the tiny body at rest in the little vine-grown churchyard. War willed it thus.

When I got back from the cemetery I found another load of refugees installed in the courtyard. This time they proved to be a hotel keeper and her servants from the Ardennes. They, however, had foreseen that flight was imminent and had carefully packed a greater part of their household belongings and valuables onto several wagons, taking care that all were well balanced and properly loaded so as to carry the maximum weight without tiring the horses. They needed less attention than the others had required, for when I explained that the house was theirs, they went about their work swiftly and silently, getting in no one's way and attending to every want of their mistress, who sat in her coupe and gave orders.

Later on they were joined by the occupants of numerous other equipages, all from the same district--but with whom I had but little intercourse. From one poor woman, however, I learned that her two daughters, aged sixteen and seventeen, had been lost from the party for two days. They were in the cart with the curate who had stopped to water his horse, thus losing his place in line. When they had reached the spot where the road forked, which direction had he taken? What had become of them? She pinned her name and route on the refectory wall, begging me to give it to them if they ever inquired for her. To my knowledge they never passed.

At luncheon Madame Guix announced that Yvonne was better. Far from well, but better. That was a load off my mind.

The mother of the poor little infant we had buried was peacefully slumbering on a cot in the hospital, and presently Leon came in to say that old Cesar had put his hoof on the ground for the first time in four days. Bravo! I felt much relieved.

And still the carts rolled down the valley, their noise echoing between the hills. To-day there was no respite: right on through the heat of noon they rumbled past, thicker and faster it seemed to me.

"Bother them!" I thought. "They make so much noise that we couldn't hear the cannon if it were only a mile distant." And hoping that perhaps I might seek some assurance from that sound, I was about to set off for the highest spot in the park to listen. At the door, however, I was accosted by one of the two men who, for several days had been bundling my hay in the stable lofts. He pleaded illness. Would I pay him and let him go? He would come back to-morrow and finish if he felt better.

As there was nothing unusual in his request, I settled his account and told him to go and rest. I now know that he was a German spy, and have recently learned that a fortnight later he was caught and shot at Villers-Cotterets.

I wonder what possessed me to make that long weary climb. Evidently I found out what I wanted to know, but the news was anything but reassuring. I heard the cannon distinctly: so distinctly that I was a trifle unnerved. Not only had my ears caught the long ever-steady rolling (already observed three days since) but I had been able to make out a difference in the caliber of each piece that fired, and added to it all was a funny clattering sound, as when one drags a wooden stick along an iron barred fence. _La Fere_ is putting up a heroic defense, I thought, blissfully unconscious of the fact that it is utterly impossible to hear a cannon at that distance--at half, no, even a quarter of that distance. Judge then for yourselves what was its proximity to Villiers!

For two days now the course in nursing had been abandoned, not for lack of enthusiasm but because each housewife had more than she could attend to at home. The chateau was not the only place where refugees halted, and all the villagers had done their best to make the travelers comfortable. From where I stood overlooking the two valleys, I could see the interminable line of carts on all roads within scope of my view, and in every farm yard as well as on the side of the main thoroughfares, vehicles were drawn up and thin columns of blue smoke rising heavenward, told that the evening meal was under way.

The population of my own courtyard had quadrupled by five o'clock. People from St. Quentin, Ternier, Chauny--each with a tale of horror and sorrow--sought refuge for the night. Madame Guix was permanently established in the dispensary, and a line was formed as in front of the city clinics, each one waiting his turn, hoping that she might be able to relieve his suffering. At dusk a cart turned into the drive and a gray-haired man asked if we had a litter on which to carry his son to the house.

"What was the matter?" I inquired.

"A cough--such a bad cough."

I went with him towards the wagon, and there beheld the sad spectacle of a youth in the last stages of tuberculosis. Thin beyond description, a living skeleton, the poor boy turned his great glassy eyes towards me in supplication. I drew the father aside. It was best to be frank. I shook my head and said it would be useless to move his son. We had no doctor, and his illness was beyond our competence. Cover him well, and try to reach a big city as soon as possible.

As I turned away, a sturdy youth tapped me gently on the arm, begging shelter for his great-grandmother, a woman ninety-three years old, whom he had carried on his back all the way from St. Quentin. A cot in the entrance hall was all prudence permitted me to offer, and it was charming to see how tenderly the young fellow bore the poor little withered woman to her resting-place. She was so dazed that I fear she hardly realized what was happening, but tears of gratitude streamed down her cheeks when her boy appeared with a bowl of hot soup, coaxing her to drink, like a child, and finally curling up on the rug beside her bed.

Five times that evening the great refectory table was surrounded by hungry men and women; five times I ladled out soup and vegetables to forty persons, and five times we all helped to wash up. So when all was finally cleaned away, and Madame Guix and I fell exhausted onto two kitchen chairs, it was well onto eleven P. M.

My clever nurse informed me that she had arranged for the departure in a cart of the mother whose baby we had buried, and I in turn told her of my climb in the park and the approach of the cannon. It was evident that the Germans were bearing down on us, and swiftly. When we looked at the map and saw the names of the cities, towns and villages whose populations had succeeded each other down the road, it was clear that the French must be beating a forced retreat, or (and this was unlikely) panic had spread so quickly that the whole north of France was now moving south on a fool's errand. We cast this second hypothesis aside. We had heard too many tales of woe and seen too much misery to believe anything of the sort. Well, and then what? Our case was simple--either the Germans would be stopped before they reached us, or the French army would put in an appearance, in which latter case it would be time enough to leave, unless we were officially evacuated before! Having adopted this simple line of conduct, we retired, quite satisfied and not in the least uneasy.

In the cool gray dawn of Wednesday morning, September second, when I opened my shutters and looked out into the little square that faces the chateau, I was amazed to see that the refugees who had halted there were in carts and wagons whose signs were most familiar. They came from Soissons!

"Hello," thought I, "I'll go and see what they have to say! Things must be getting very bad if a big city like Soissons suddenly takes to its heels." (Soissons is but little over twenty miles from Villiers.) As I came down stairs I heard the drum roll, and George, who just then appeared with the milk, announced that the requisition of horses which should have taken place at Chateau-Thierry that morning, was indefinitely postponed. That was hardly reassuring, especially as it was the first official news we had received in a long time.

So busy were we helping those who had slept at the chateau to depart, that I had no time to put my first intentions into execution, and when finally I had a moment, I looked out of the window and saw that my friends from Soissons had vanished. They, too: well, well, well!

I was not astonished; in fact I gave the matter but little heed. We had taken our resolutions the night before and had no time to stop every five minutes and question as to whether we were right or wrong. At noon, however, when an old peasant woman called me through the kitchen window and announced that all Charly was leaving post haste, I must admit that I winced, but only for a second. If I had listened to all the different rumors that had been noised abroad within the last week I would have been a fit subject for a lunatic asylum by then!

Resolved, however, to get at the core of the matter, I sent George to Charly (our market town, four miles away) to see what he could find out. He returned on his bicycle at luncheon time, bearing the following astonishing information.

The hotel keeper and his wife, alarmed by the arrival of the Soissonais, had taken their auto and started for that city in quest of news. They had returned an hour later, having been unable to pass Oulchy-le-Chateau, fifteen miles from Charly, where all the bridges were cut or blown up! They were making their preparations for departure.

"And," continued George, in an excited tone, "as I came past the _Gendarmerie_ the _brigadier_ called to me and said good-bye. All the _gendarmes_ had received orders to leave at once for their depot at--." (The name of some town the other side of the Marne, which I cannot remember.)

Instead of frightening me this information stimulated my nerves, which were beginning to be depressed by much work and little news.

"Good," I said. "Now then, we can expect the soldiers at any minute. Poke up the fire, Julie, and we'll fall to work to have hot soup ready when our boys arrive."

Then we were really going to be in the excitement. How glorious to be able to help--for in my mind ours was the only solution possible to the question.