Chapter 8

My own poor beast limped on and besides thinking of all that I had left undone at the chateau and planning how and where we could go, I had the constant vision of his silent suffering in front of me. At every little incline I would get down and throwing the reins over the neck of Betsy, my bull dog, who occupied the seat beside me, I would give Cesar his head and take my place with the boys behind. He seemed to be grateful.

Let it be said, however, that as our journey advanced the hoof, at first so tender from much poulticing, became firmer and firmer, and instead of increasing, the lameness rather grew less.

We crossed our little market town of Charly amid dead silence. Not a light in a single window, not a sound anywhere. We seemed to be the only souls astir, and the foolhardiness of this midnight departure when everyone else was tucked up snug in his bed, angered me. I was seized with a mad desire to turn about and go home.

Just then George asked me which direction I intended taking, and remembering H.'s imperative "Go south," we turned sharp and headed for the first bridge across the Marne.

High in front of me rose the dark wooded hills of Pavant, descending abruptly to that narrow strip of fertile plain which borders the river on both sides, but now half-veiled in a heavy blue mist. Below me the swift current sped onward like a silver arrow, and before so impressive a spectacle I could not help thinking how meager is the art of the scene painter and dramatist which tries to depict a real battlefield. For battlefield I felt this was, and my overstrained nerves no longer holding my imagination in check, I could already see human forms writhing in agony, and hear the moaning of souls on the brink of Eternity. As though to vivify this hallucination, the dying moon suddenly plunged behind a cloud, lighting the landscape but by strange lugubrious streaks, and in the distance behind us a long low rumble warned me that my dream might soon be a terrible reality.

The Marne crossed, a weight was lifted from my shoulders, and settling back against the pile of blankets in my rig, I let the horse follow his own sweet will and we started to zig-zag up a steep incline. At the end of five minutes' time I was so benumbed by the cold that sleep was impossible, so I left my seat and joined the others who, all save Yvonne, had been obliged to descend to relieve their horse. What a climb that was--seven long kilometers from right to left, winding around that hill, as about a mountain, ever and again finding ourselves on a narrow ledge overlooking the valley. The fog had spread until literally choked up between the bills and I could hardly persuade myself that it was not the sea that rolled below me. Even the signal lamps on the distant railway line rose out of the labyrinth like a lighthouse in mid-ocean, making the illusion complete.

Dawn was breaking as we reached the summit and pausing for a moment's breath, we could see people with bundles hurrying from cottages and farm yards, while the fields seemed dotted with horses and carts that sprang out of the semi-darkness like specters, following one another to the highway. In less than no time the long caravan had re-formed and was again under way.

We brought up the rear, preceded by five hundred snow-white oxen. There was no way of' advancing faster than the _cortege_. It was stay in line or lose your place, and as the sun rose over the plains, I was so impressed by the magnificence of our procession that I forgot the real cause of our flight and never for an instant realized that I now formed an intimate part of that column which but a few hours since inspired me with such genuine pity.

As we passed through a small agglomeration of houses that one might hardly call a village, I recognized several familiar faces on the doorsteps, and presently comprehended why Charly was so dark and silent the night before. It was empty--evacuated--and the greater part of its inhabitants were here on the roadside, preparing to continue their route.

Where were we going? I think none of us had a very definite idea. We were following in line on the only road that crossed this wonderfully fertile country. The monotony of the landscape, the warmth of the sun, added to the gentle swing of my cart calmed my nerves and I fell back into a heavy sleep.

When I opened my eyes I could hear water running over a dam, and see below me and but a very short distance away, a river flowing through a valley. Someone said it was the Petit Morin; another announced that we had come seventeen kilometers and a third proffered that it was 6:30 A. M.--time for breakfast. We ought not to attack the opposite hill on empty stomachs.

Accordingly we crossed the Petit Morin and broke ranks in front of two little cottages that bordered the river at the entrance of an electric power house. At the same time, a small covered gig halted beside our big cart and from it descended the mother of the two little girls she who had so much gold.

Did I mind if she followed in our wake?

Of course not.

She was still as timid and frightened as the night before, and it didn't take much questioning to learn that she had never had a pair of reins in her hands before in her life.

The boys took all the horses down to the river and carefully bathed their knees and legs. In the meantime, coffee had been found and ground, someone had scurried about and found a house where milk could be had, and on an iron tripod that I had sense enough to bring along, water was set to boiling.

It was very amusing that first picnic breakfast, and my! what appetites we had. The summer lodgers in one of the cottages gazed upon us in amazement--all save one little girl who, so it seems, had had a presentiment that some ill would befall her and for two days had not ceased weeping.

The meal over, each one went to my cart and taking possession of a blanket and pillow, rolled up in it and went fast asleep in the brilliant sunshine. How we blessed those warm, penetrating rays, for we had suffered much from the damp cold all night.

Left alone, I overhauled my wagon and made the discovery that my jewel box was missing. That did not alarm me much, for I was confident that I had left it on the refectory table, and would find it--like my silver chests--just where I had left them.

My road map showed us to be at La Tretoire, midway between Charly and Rebais, but as there were no provisions to be had in so small a place, I decided to push on to the township where we might be able to get lodgings. This, however, must be done before noon, or we would be obliged to sleep out of doors again, for it would be impossible to travel through the heat of the day. Accordingly, at half past eight, I roused the boys and we started up the hill, bag and baggage.

It was much the same kind of scene as at Pavant, only we were less excited and far more exhausted than at the outset of our trip. Each one stalked on, gritting his teeth and wiping the big beads of perspiration from his brow. By ten we reached the top and calling George, who had been walking beside the leader since we left home, I told him to take my place in the _charette_ and I would mount my bicycle.

Leaving orders to follow the straight road to Rebais, I pushed on ahead, promising to do my best, and an hour later found myself on the outskirts of the little town--very weary and almost overcome by the heat. In the hurry of my departure from Villiers I had wrapped a scarlet chiffon scarf about my head, never thinking that a hat would be a very useful article in the daytime. For sixty minutes, then, as I had pedaled along that endless road, the sun had beaten down upon my head and shoulders, and when I came upon a public pump, I dropped down in the grass beside it, after wringing out my handkerchief in its refreshing water and bathing my burning face and arms.

When I finally made my entrance into Rebais, I found that thousands of other persons had probably had the same idea as I and it took but little time to discover that all rooms, whether private or public, were occupied. The place was overflowing with refugees. The line outside the baker's shop warned me that I had a dozen hungry mouths dependent upon me and yesterday's supply of bread was well nigh exhausted, let alone being stale. I took my place among the others and stood for a good hour waiting for the second ovenful to finish baking.

Certainly no greasy pig at a county fair was ever more difficult to manage than that long nine-pound loaf of red hot bread. There was no way of handling it--it burned everything it touched. No sooner did I put it under one arm than I was obliged to change it to the other post haste. Add to this the fact that I had not ridden a bicycle since a child, and realize that whether walking or riding the bread was equally hot and equally cumbersome. It was too long to fit into the handlebars, besides how could I hold it there? Too soft to be tied with string that I might buy. At one moment I thought seriously of picking up my skirt and carrying the bread as peasant women do grass and fodder, but alas, a 1914 skirt was too narrow to permit this. At length when almost disheartened and I had stood my loaf against the side of a house to cool, I recognized a familiar voice back of me, and George appeared on his wheel to announce that my party had camped in a young orchard two miles outside of Rebais, neither man nor beast being capable of going any farther. We clapped our loaf into an overcoat that was strapped to the back of his machine, and swinging it between us, soon joined the others.

Our noonday repast was composed of cold bam and fried potatoes. I think I never ate better, though I must confess that the latter were stolen from a neighboring field. By two o'clock a dozen weary inhabitants of Villiers were stretched out on their rugs and peacefully dreaming! We had decided to rest before determining what to do for the night.

I was awakened by a stiff feeling in my neck, and opened my eyes to find that the sun was rapidly disappearing in the west. I had slept soundly four hours and was much refreshed, though the bumps in the ground had bruised me, and I could hardly move my head.

Yvonne had stood the journey so far very well though unable as yet to walk, but as the cool of the evening came on I began to worry lest a night out of doors set her screaming with pain. So as I laced my boots, I decided to go back to Rebais and make another desperate attempt to lodge her at least.

"Did Madame see Maitre Baudoin this morning," asked Leon, to whom I imparted my plans.

I gasped! What a fool I was! My mind was so upset that I had forgotten that my own notary was a prominent personality in Rebais.

A quarter of an hour later I turned into the public square and beheld Maitre Baudoin and his wife standing on the doorstep watching the exodus of numerous refugees.

"Madame Huard!" they exclaimed. "You? What on earth has happened?"

I explained in a few words.

"Why, come right in. We were just going to sit down to dinner."

I said I was not alone, and must first look after the others. Without waiting a second, Maitre Baudoin crossed over to the town hall and soon returned with a key in his hand.

"Here, here's the key to a bakery--there are rooms above. Your people can lodge there and you come in with us. All this will be over in a day or so; the news is good to-day. The Germans will never reach the Marne!"

I went and fetched our delighted caravan, and after safely depositing them in their new residence, I was crossing the main street to join my friends, when a big military auto whisked into the middle of the square and halted. Ten seconds later it was followed by a dozen others, and by the time I had reached the Baudoins' the place was literally lined with motors, containing officers and orderlies. We were just sitting down when some one pounded on the door and a deep authoritative voice called out, "You're to lodge a general and two officers!" And we could hear the man hastily chalking the names on the door.

Madame Baudoin looked from me to her husband, her eyes wide open with astonishment. The meal was forgotten and we hurried out into the twilight to seek news. The _Etat Major_ of a cavalry division was to bivouac at Rebais, would be leaving at midnight.

My friends understood, and they who had not as yet seen a soldier since the war began, realized for the first time that they were now in the midst of the retreating army. I begged them to make ready for flight and they hurried homewards while I returned to the bakery to hold council.

As I reached the door, someone touched me on the shoulder and an officer, pointing to the Red Cross armlet I was wearing, said:

"Go to the hospital at once. We need your services. Wounded."

"Very well, sir," I replied, and stepped inside.

"Madame Guix! Madame Guix!" I called in the stairway from the shop.

The others came clattering down all excitement, saying that Madame Guix had been recognized by her uniform and sent flying to the hospital.

Just then a shadow barred the entrance door and turning I saw an army chauffeur standing there.

"A piece of bread for God's sake," he begged.

"What?"

"Yes, I'm nearly dead of hunger. We've had no time to cook our food, and bread has been lacking for two days."

I looked about me--the bread boxes were empty. I had no right to do so, but I opened all the cupboards. The least I could do was pay, if the bakers appeared. I found a stale loaf and chopped it in four with the big knife near the counter. The way that poor fellow bit into it brought tears to my eyes.

"Wait a minute," I said as he turned away, and I rushed out to the court where my cart was standing. In a moment I was back with a slice of ham and some sweet chocolate and Julie came up with a glass of water.

I was about to ask questions when another form appeared, followed by still another.

"Bread--oh, for heaven's sake, bread!" they implored. Apparently there was no reason why I should not go on with my new trade until all the hungry chauffeurs in the army were satisfied. But remembering the wounded, I turned over my job to Julie, with orders to deal out the bread as long as it lasted and to go lightly with the chocolate, as my provision was not endless.

What a different aspect the main square presented to that of an hour before! Motors were lined up four deep on all sides, and I was obliged to elbow my way through the crowds of gapers, refugees, and officers that thronged the street.

"Have you come for the wounded?" questioned a white-capped sister as I closed the convent door and strode up the steps.

"Yes, sister."

"Heaven be praised! Come this way, quickly. Your nurse is here, but cannot suffice alone. We're of no use--there are only five of us to look after the almshouse, and a hundred refugees. We know nothing of surgery or bandaging."

All this was said sweetly and quietly as we hurried down a long corridor. In the middle of a big, well-lighted room stood Madame Guix bandaging the arm of a fine looking fellow, who shut his eyes and grated his teeth as she worked. On a half-dozen chairs sat as many men, some holding their heads in their hands, some doubled in two, others clenching their fists in agony. Not a murmur escaped them. The floor in several places was stained with great red patches.

"Quick, Madame Huard. We must stop the hemorrhages at all costs. The wounds are not bad, since the men have come on foot, but one never can tell with this heat."

A sister tied a white apron around me and in a second I had washed my hands and begun. The first shirt I split, my heart leapt to my lips. I was neither a novice nor a coward, but the sight of human blood flowing so generously and given so ungrudgingly, gave me a queer feeling in my throat. A second later that had all passed over and as I worked I questioned the young fellows as to home and family and finally at what place they had been wounded. Some did not know, others named unfamiliar corners, but La Tretoire startled me. Our morning halt! Then the invaders had crossed the Marne? For these were not wounds from exploding shell but Mauser bullets and pistol shots!

Meanwhile the sisters brought iron beds and soft mattresses into the next room, and each boy in turn was put to rest. Fortunately there was nothing very serious, for we had no doctor and knew not where to find one. When we reached our last patient he was so limp that we feared he would faint. Imagine, if you can, what it is to cut away a stout pair of trooper's boots, and undress an almost helpless man whose clothes are fairly glued to the skin with blood, dirt and perspiration.

"Hold the ammonia closer to his nose," said Madame Guix, tugging at a wire that served as boot lace.

"I'm afraid he's exhausted. There he goes--" I had just time to catch the body as it slid from the chair.

Madame Guix grasped his wrist.

"His pulse is good. Hold fast till I get my needle."

The boy's lips parted and a familiar sound filled the room.

"He's not fainted!" I gasped. "He's asleep! Snoring!"

Poor little fellow, a bullet in the shoulder and one in the shin, and yet fatigue had overcome the pain! When we finally had to wake him, he apologized so nicely for the trouble he had given us, and sighed with delight when he touched the cool linen sheets.

"You must have found me a pretty mess. I haven't been out of my saddle for three weeks, and we've been fighting every minute since we left Charleroi."

Our patients all asleep, Madame Guix and I sought a moment's rest in the open. A door in the corridor led out into a lovely old-world garden, surrounded on four sides by a delicately plastered cloister. The harvest moon shone down, covering everything with a silver sheen, and such quiet and calm reigned that it was almost impossible to believe that we were not visitors to some famous landscape, leisurely enjoying a long-planned trip.

We were given no time to dream, however, for hasty footsteps in the corridor and the appearance of a white-robed sister carrying a gun, told us that our task was not yet finished.

On a bench in the cloister, his head buried in one arm, the other tied up in an impromptu sling, we found a blue-coated soldier. He was the image of despair, and though we gently questioned him, he only shook his head from side to side without answering. Finally I sat down on the bench beside him and gently stroking his well arm, pleaded that he would tell us his trouble so that we might help him. He drew his head up with a jerk, and turning on me with an almost furious look in his big black eyes, he snapped, "Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what it is. My God, my wife and babies, shut up in Valenciennes. It isn't this that's killing me," he continued, slapping his bandaged arm. "It's only a flesh wound in the shoulder. But it's the other--the other thoughts. I've seen them at their work, the pack of cursed cowards! but if they ever touch my wife! Perhaps they have, the dirty blackguards, and I'm not there to defend her. Curse them all!"

And he beat his fist on his knees in rage. Then anger, and agony having reached paroxysm, his lips trembled, his mouth twitched, and brusquely throwing his arm around my neck, he buried his head on my shoulder and burst into tears.

The first instant of surprise over, it would have been stupid to be offended. The circumstances were such that it was impossible not to be moved.

I had never seen a man weep before; I never want to again. For a full quarter-hour he sobbed like a child--this great sturdy fellow of thirty-five, and through the mist in my eyes I could see that my companion had turned her back on us and was fumbling for her handkerchief in her pocket.

Then little by little the choking sound disappeared, his shoulders ceased to heave and shake, and a moment later our soldier lifted his head and blubbered an apology.

"Forgive me--you've done me so much good. I know I'm a fool, but it had to come--I just couldn't stand it another minute--" and other similar phrases, which we nipped in the bud by asking if he would like a cup of hot soup, or come into the dispensary when we could bandage his wound.

"Anywhere where it's light. I want you to see her picture--she'd think you're great."

And so before he would let us touch his wound, we had to feel in his breast pocket and draw forth a wallet from which he produced the cherished photographs.

At length we completed his bandaging and I left Madame Guix to add the finishing touches and went to the kitchen where Soeur Laurent was standing over a huge range, ladling soup from two immense copper boilers. There were men, women and children holding out cups and mugs, a half-dozen dusty cavalrymen were skinning two rabbits in one corner, and as many other soldiers were peeling vegetables which they threw into another pot full of boiling water.

This was no time to ask permission. The poor sister was already half distracted by the demands of the famished refugees and combatants, so taking a ladle from the wall, I dipped into the pot and strained some bouillon into a few cups that I found in a cupboard. I intended giving this to our patients should they wake and call for drink, and I was just lifting my tray to go when a loud thumping on the front door made me set it down in haste.

I looked at Soeur Laurent, who was preparing to answer the summons, much to the dismay of the soldiers.

"I'll go," I called, and hurried out into the vestibule and down the wide white marble steps. As I threw back the huge oak door someone brushed past me, calling "Two men and a stretcher," and there in the brilliant moonlight I beheld the most ghastly spectacle I had as yet witnessed.

Thrown forward in his saddle, his arms clasped about the horse's neck, was the form of a dragoon. The animal that bore him had once been white, but was now so splashed with blood that it was impossible to tell what color was his originally. Both man and beast were wounded, badly wounded, and how they had come here was a miracle.

The alarm had reached the kitchen and hurrying forward, the troopers soon lifted their comrade from his mount and carried him in. A lance had pierced his thigh and the horse's flank, which meant that it had been a hand-to-hand fight, and the blood still flowing freely, proved that the combat was not an hour old!

Madame Guix and I were doing our best when the white face's of my notary and his wife appeared at the door of the dispensary.

"Madame Huard, we've come to tell you you must go!"

"Go?"

"Yes, it is two o'clock and the general who was quartered on us slept four hours and has gone. When leaving he warned us that the battle would be on here by morning. We who have a motor are safe, but you who have but horses must flee at once!"

"But I can't leave the wounded!"

"But you must. The worst that can happen to them is to be made prisoners--more than likely they will be carried away by one of our emergency ambulances. But think of all the young people who look to you for protection! You cannot desert them; you must go!"

I looked at Madame Guix.

"Go, Madame Huard, you must. You owe it to the others. None of you need me and I can be of service here, so if the sisters will keep me I'll stay."

Reluctantly I shook hands with my nurse, and hastened down the steps. Maitre Baudoin and his wife took leave of me at the comer, and I elbowed my way between the horses of a cavalry regiment, whose riders were sound asleep on the hard cobble pavement beside them.