Chapter 9

On the further side of the square noisy rolling sounds told me that the artillery was crossing the city, and mounting a doorstep, I beheld battery after battery of the famous Seventy-fives clattering out of sight over the road we had come by in the morning. When I got down, I found my way blocked by the 18th Chasseurs a cheval, who, four abreast and lance in hand, were setting out for battle. They were anything but a beaten army--most of them were softly humming some popular song, while others were calmly filling their pipes and still others catching forty winks in their saddles. One or two I noticed wore no caps, and their heads were bound in blood-stained bandages.

There seemed to be no end to them and I was beginning to get anxious about our departure. Plunging my hand into my coat pocket I touched a piece of stale bread and a bit of chocolate, forgotten since the day before, and hunger having seized me, I began gnawing my crust.

"Say, sister, give us a bite," called one young chap from his horse as he passed.

"Are you really hungry?"

"You bet!"

Without hesitating I offered my crust.

"Hurray for the girl with the red scarf!" called another. "Come on with us. We'll make room for you." "We need a mascot," and other similar jolly phrases passed from mouth to mouth as gaily the flower of young France went forth to death.

When finally they had disappeared I rushed across the street to find George and Emile (H.'s messenger) engaged in a conversation with the driver of an army supply wagon drawn up within an inch of the bakery steps. Beside him on the seat sat a huge dragoon, his bead done up in a blood-stained towel.

"We're lost," he was explaining. "Been cut off from our regiment for three days."

"Poor regiment!" I murmured, and calling the boys, I told Emile to wake the others and come down quickly to help hitch the horses. He was only gone a second, and I could hear him calling.

"_Allons, allons, Madame part de suite._"

Then he reappeared carrying a lantern.

"Where the devil did you get the light?" growled George.

"In their room."

"Then how in the name of heaven do you expect those people to dress and roll up their belongings in the dark?" I scolded. "Here, George, go back with the lantern."

George obeyed orders, and Emile, rather sheepishly, skulked away in the direction of the stable yard. I heard a sliding door pushed open, followed by a long low whistle, and a second later Emile reappeared, his eyes popping out of his head with astonishment.

"There's a horse missing--been stolen!"

"No! Impossible!"

"The stable's empty!"

I hurried to the spot, and found that he told the truth.

"George!" I called, as my boy came around the corner of the house. "George, Cesar's been stolen!"

"Who says so, Madame?"

"Emile--the stable's empty."

Calmly and easily George walked over towards Emile, and taking him by the collar, shook him violently. "Look here, you! What do you mean by frightening Madame like that? Are you her servant? No! Well, then, mind your own business!"

And opening a second door alongside the other, we found Cesar and Sausage munching their oats.

It was no easy job harnessing in the dark and backing the heavy carts out of the narrow yard into the still narrower street. But in ten minutes our caravan was again en route.

We crossed the public square, now almost empty of men, horses and motors, and took the only road leading south.

The first gray streaks of daylight lighted the east as we turned the corner, and we were obliged to pull suddenly to the extreme right, for a heavy Parisian motorbus swung round the bend and rushed on past us.

Straining my eyes, I perceived that there was not one but hundreds of them, following each other at top speed down the hill. There were armed men standing inside them, armed men on the platforms and steps, armed men even on the roofs and it was indeed a strange sight to see _Madeleine-Bastille_ and the _Galeries Lafayette_ out here in the open country, jammed full of grim infantrymen preparing for the fray.

Suddenly a tremendous explosion rent the air and shook the ground so that the horses stopped and trembled.

"There goes the bridge at Nogent!" cried George. "No--the power house at La Tretoire!"

"_En avant!_" I called, knowing that the signal for battle had now been given.

VI

We had gone about two miles when the sight of my greyhounds tied behind the farm cart made me think of my little Boston bull.

"Where's Betsy?" I asked of those perched on the hay.

Julie, Nini and Yvonne grew white.

It took little time to discover that no one had seen her that morning. It was evident she had been forgotten--left to die tied to the brass rail inside an abandoned bakery, for it was there I had fastened her on arriving the night before. Pedaling ahead till I reached Leon who led the procession--

"Keep straight on this road. If it should fork, take the direction of the La Ferte Gauche. I'll be back in no time." Then turning about, I started a parallel race with an autobus, much to the delight of the occupants.

Useless to say that my adversary gained on the up-grade, turned the corner, was gone, and was followed by another long before I reached the public square, breathless and full of anxiety.

Rebais was empty--not even a tardy refugee straggled by the wayside, and before I reached the bakery I could hear the plaintive howls of my little brute.

What a joyful welcome I received. What hilarious waggings of that little screw tail! But, there was no time to be lost, for the problem now was how Betsy was to catch up with the procession. She was too heavy for me to carry under my arm, and too old and puffy to be expected to follow a bicycle--but it was one or the other, and tying her leash to the handle bar, off we started, after an encouraging pat on the head and the promise of a lump of sugar if she would only "be a good girl."

On we sped, past the huge lumbering motorbuses, which terrified the poor animal who tugged vehemently at her string, at times almost choking herself.

In half an hour we had caught up with the caravan, and as I lifted poor exhausted Betsy on to the hay, Nini roused from her dozing and pointing to the east, said, "Oh, look! what a big fire!"

"You silly child, it's the sun rising; go back to sleep," I said, terrified by what I had seen, but unwilling to alarm the others uselessly.

At the skyline of an immense plain that stretched on our left, huge columns of flame burst heavenward, covered a moment later by dense black smoke. Fortunately, however, the sun peeped over the horizon almost instantly, thereby diminishing the intensity of the conflagration. But Nini was not to be thus hoodwinked.

"See," she continued, "what funny little fluffy clouds those are!"

"Nini, if you don't go to sleep at once you'll have to get down and walk, and let one of the boys take your place. They'll be only too glad to, I know."

Nini obeyed instantly. She had come away with but one pair of shoes (in spite of my admonition to take all the footwear she possessed) and that pair of shoes pinched.

Funny little fluffy clouds indeed! The shaking of the earth beneath my feet and a second of reflection told me, they were not clouds, before they would be directed westward was but shells--and how long it would be a question that chilled the blood in my veins.

The town we were heading for--La Ferte Gauche--lay southeast. Though I had no glass, it was evident that it was now under the enemies' fire, and we might just as well run our necks into a noose as keep on in that direction. It was southwest--or nothing.

Without offering any explanation I rode ahead and told Leon to follow me. Then turning abruptly to the right, I took the first side path that was wide enough for our cart wheels, and in and out, up and down, we followed it for over an hour, until coasting down a steep incline, I found myself in the midst of a delightful little village, nestled between two hills on the border of a river.

The shops were just opening and people were going about their work as if nothing unusual were happening. They gazed in astonishment at this hatless bicyclist, who wore a Red Cross armlet, and when I went into the baker shop, I was filled with joy at the sight of all the crisp loaves lined up in their racks ready for delivery.

Refugees?

They hadn't seen any. Someone had heard an unaccustomed movement of wagons during the night, that was all.

A signpost, as I turned into the square, told me that I was at Jouy-sur-Morin, and a few moments later, I came upon a group of gentlemen in frock coats standing talking on an embankment below the church. If it had been in the afternoon instead of five A. M., I should have thought this assembly perfectly in harmony with the landscape. In fact they looked so much like H.'s caricatures of his provincial compatriots that I couldn't help smiling as I passed. This mutational gathering of the municipal council was the only outward sign of anxiety to be found in this picturesque township.

The arrival of our caravan produced quite a sensation among the early risers at Jouy, thought the enthusiasm for telling their story had somewhat subsided among my servants. They were footsore, sleepy, and hungry.

The gentlemen in frock coats were too busy in their own affairs to give us much attention, and I was about to leave when one of them called me over and asked a few questions. Anxious to be off, I answered briefly. The man probably took me for a poor demented female; how could he think otherwise down here in his little valley, where not a sound of gun and shell had penetrated as yet?

History will tell you how, a few hours later, Jouy-sur-Morin was the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the Marne.

At the dairy, my appearance aroused much curiosity, and when I brought out the money to pay for my milk, the woman held up her hand. "No, never; I couldn't take pay from such forlorn creatures as you!"

This unexpected pity brought the blood to my cheeks. I was hot with indignation. Until now we had wanted for nothing, and with gold in my pocket charity was an insult. I straightened my tie, looked at my dusty boots, and realized for the first time that my face was drawn with fatigue and anxiety--that my hair, though tidy, was sadly out of curl. Leaving my change on the table, I turned on my heel and departed. Explanations were tiresome and useless.

We crossed a railroad track and then the river--the Grand Morin--and in a grass-grown granite quarry halted for breakfast, sheltering ourselves from the blistering sun in the shade of the immense rocks.

The boys took the horses down to the river to drink and bathe, and a few seconds later came back for towels and soap.

What a happy idea! A quarter of a mile higher up the bank I found a well secluded spot, and plunged into the refreshing current. It was the first time I had had my boots off since leaving Villiers. Thanks to a small pocket glass and a fresh white blouse, I made myself quite presentable and as I approached our camp, the appetizing odor of fresh fried country sausage tickled my nostrils and made me glad to be alive.

Hot coffee accompanied by buttered toast had been prepared by the girls during my absence, and we needed no coaxing to persuade us to do the meal justice. Already accustomed to this gypsy life, George's dry humor began to show itself, and now and again the silence would be broken by peals of laughter, caused by some quaint joke.

We lingered lovingly over the repast, and I was trying to decide whether or not we would push on at once or wait and rest until afternoon when suddenly my question was answered for me.

While we had been clearing up and loading the carts a long train of freight cars had noiselessly glided down the rails opposite our quarry, and had halted without pulling into the station. There was nothing abnormal in this, and from where we sat a trifle below the level of the track, we could see but little of what was going on on the opposite platform. Standing upright in my charette, carefully folding a blanket so as to take up the least possible space, my eye was attracted by several red specks scurrying up a steep incline. A moment afterwards my gaze drifted downward and I realized that from the innocent looking freight cars hundreds of armed soldiers were disembarking and spreading themselves out, _en tirailleurs_, preparing an attack in ambush. I had seen this same pretty feat successfully accomplished at the _grand manauvres_, the year before, but it was another thing entirely when one grasped that these men were in dead earnest.

Just then a buggy, containing a disheveled woman and collarless man, galloped over the crossing and sped westward. The occupants, whom I hailed, did not deign a reply, but beckoning with their arms, enjoined me to follow them.

"It's time to break camp," I said, "if we intend to reach the next town before it gets too hot."

So off we started, preceded by a heavy delivery wagon, a _Familistere_ from the north, which crossed the rails just as we were pulling onto the road. It was a big covered affair, filled to overflowing with bedding and household utensils--and even the top was loaded with huge boxes and baskets of provisions. Behind it walked, or rather trotted, three stout women and a man, the former half-crazed with heat and anxiety, mopping their brows and their tears as the _cortege_ advanced.

An hour and a half of steady climbing quite exhausted them, and when we reached the level, the three graces collapsed by the roadside, still weeping copiously. I observed this as I approached, and presently saw their companion mounted on the high hind wheel of their wagon, gazing intently towards the east through a pair of field glasses.

"What can you see?" I asked as the _charette_ passed by them.

"Come and have a look. It's worth while. My wife and family are too frightened."

I halted, and climbing up by the spokes reached the top, and steadying myself with my left hand, took the proffered glass with my right.

From one extremity to the other of the wide plains, from which we were separated by the valley of the Grand Morin, those same long columns of dense black smoke rose lazily in the brilliant sunlight. Into some determined spot the enemy was pouring a perfect rain of shot and shell, and the dust rising after each explosion formed a curtain that blotted out the rest of the landscape. Below, the _Senegalais_ had disappeared in ambush, but now and again the distant clattering of the _mitrailleuse_ told us they were at their deadly work. And to think, all this was happening on ground we had traveled over only a few hours since! And I had been fool enough to go back to Rebais--alone to recover my dog!

I shuddered as I got down. What was the use of trying to hurry? We couldn't go any faster than the horses, and if we overworked them now we would have to rest longer later on. So, urging our poor old nags, we trudged along the sun-baked roads between the high grown wheat fields of the Brie country.

Still another couple of hours and we had reached Choisy-en-Brie, found a stable for our animals, and we ourselves stretched out on our blankets beneath the friendly shadow of the big stone church.

I had finished luncheon and was just dozing off when a motor horn roused me from my lethargy. A second later I recognized Maitre Baudoin and his wife, the latter holding their four-year-old daughter on her knees, her grandmother sitting alone in the back seat which was piled high with important documents, and their maid strapped to the steps of the car.

We set up a shout which stopped them. "We stayed until a shell burst on the house next door, then we thought it was time to go,"' explained Maitre Baudoin.

"What time did you leave Rebais?"

"Forty minutes ago. You'd better be moving, too."

"Sorry, but I can't. The horses must rest."

"Well, don't wait too long. Adieu."

"Adieu," and they were off.

I returned to my blanket and again was just closing my eyes when the unexpected sound of Gregorian chant made me sit up. Nearer and nearer it drew, louder and louder rose the priests' voices, and then a much-befringed and flower-laden hearse, preceded by the clergy and followed by the mourners (the men in evening dress and the women in their Sunday clothes), rounded the corner, passed in front of us, and halted before the main door of the church.

I couldn't help smiling. The incongruity of this pompous _enterrement de premiere classe, en musique_, when the city was imminently menaced by a German bombardment, bordered on the pathetic and the ridiculous. However, the family of the defunct did not think so, and their deceased parent was chanted to eternity with all the rites and ceremonies that his will had provided for.

Personally I was delighted at the idea of going to sleep to the sound of the organ, which pierced the thick granite walls and almost drowned the rumble of the cannon, to which we had now become so accustomed that we had ceased to be alarmed.

"_Des soldats!_" cried someone.

In a second I was on my feet.

"Where?"

"Two-on bicycles, going into the hotel opposite."

I reached there as soon as they did. Their story was brief.

"We're the forerunners of a cavalry depot, being transferred to Rozoy from Montmirail. It's getting too hot down there! How far is it to Rozoy?"

I pulled out my map.

"Seventeen kilometres."

"Oh, Lord!"

And the poor fellows wiped the great beads of perspiration from their dusty necks and faces.

"Bring up a bottle of wine. I'll stand for the drinks," called a man from a corner of the cafe.

"What regiment do you belong to?"

"_L'Escadron du train._"

My heart leapt with expectancy.

"Do you know a man named H.?"

"No."

My disappointment was even greater than my joy.

"How many horses are you taking to Rozoy?"

"Two hundred and some."

"At what time will they pass here?"

"They're due in half an hour, if they don't get cornered by the Boches on the way. We had a close call ourselves." And swallowing their glasses of white wine and water, they were on their bicycles and gone, before we could get any further details.

I had now had enough experience to know that it was high time to take to the road if we didn't wish to be captured. Yet it seemed unfair to go and leave some two-score innocent people praying for the soul of their dear departed to a long drawn-out musical accompaniment. So while the boys were harnessing I entered the sanctuary and approaching the chancel by a side aisle, beckoned an altar boy and whispered in his ear words to the effect that the curate would better hurry his mass and thereby give his flock time to escape the invaders.

I said this calmly, and hoped he would follow my example in delivering my message, but imagine if you can the effect produced by this frightened individual, who, lifting his hands in the air, cried out in terror, "_Vite, vite, Monsieur le Cure'! Voila' les Prussiens!_"

I didn't wait to see what happened, but went out and joined my group, which was making ready to start. How far advanced was mass when I entered the church I did not observe, but what I do know is that it finished abruptly after my warning, and the poor hearse horse never before galloped towards the cemetery of Choisy at such a pace nor in such an undignified manner. As to the mourners, they fairly flew beside it, greatly diminished in number, the others scattering like chaff before the wind.

The half-hour's interval allowed by the cyclists for the horses to arrive was far overlapped by the time we once again took the road, but the sound of the cannonade had gradually grown closer.

Wearied by this constant changing of camp, I made up my mind to go far enough in this next move to be able to really rest for a day or so. Consulting my map, I discovered Jouyle-Chatel to be at what I judged a safe distance--nearly thirty kilometres and considerably south of Paris. The afternoon was still young, so we would have time to make the town before dark. At any rate, I told George to accompany me and explained that he and I would ride ahead full speed, and arrange for beds and a dinner by the time the others should arrive. They were instructed not to let the dark halt them, but to come on. Secretly I hoped that this would be our last stretch and that we would be able to remain at Jouy until it was wise to start homeward.

It was an uneventful trip from Choisy to Jouy. The roads were excellent, though very undulating and the only incident that marked our journey was an intoxicated individual who jumped across our path and, putting his hand on my handle bar, demanded tearfully what I had done with his wife and children.

I declared myself innocent in the matter, which angered him considerably.

"Now I know you're a spy! Get down--" George did not give him time to finish the phrase, but with a well-measured blow, sent him sprawling in the brambled ditch and we beat a hasty retreat without looking back.

It was night by the time we reached Jouy, and at the entrance of the city I enquired for the best hotel.

"_Le Grand Turc_--but the proprietress is closing up, making ready to leave."

"What! Here? You don't mean to say the scare has reached this place, too?"

"Well, we've had so many refugees these days that the women got frightened and want to go."

George and I parted company, he to see what he could find since the best hotel was denied us, and I, undaunted, started off to try to persuade the proprietress to let us in.

After much rattling at the door handles and pounding on the shutters, an acrid female voice enjoined me to be gone.

"I'm closing up and leaving."

"Leaving? What for?"

"To escape the Germans!"

"How foolish! They'll never reach here. I've just come from the Marne and expected to find board and lodgings for my staff until the war is over."

That encouraged her and cracking the door, she put her head out.

"I belong to the Red Cross. Here's my badge and my _carte didentite_. Don't you think you could find room for me?"

"Well, we're packing up, but we'll have to wait for our horses, which are at a farm seven miles from here. The farmer said he'd come if there was any danger."

"Well, you see there isn't or he'd be here by now."

My hostess seemed convinced and opening the door a little wider, let me pass.

"How many of you are there?"

"Fourteen."

"Good heavens! Fourteen rooms? Never!"

"I don't ask that, my good woman. If you can find a bed for me and happen to have a bay loft or covered shed, the others will be glad enough to sleep there. As to the meals, we have our own provisions and will cook outside. It's a little late to-night, however, so if you could manage to give them a cup of hot soup and an omelet when they arrive, I'd make it worth your while."

She consented to the compromise, and sent one of her daughters to prepare my room. I then dispatched George, whose bicycle bell I heard ringing in the street, to the city gate to await and conduct the remainder of our party. In the hour that elapsed before their arrival I gained in the hostess's good graces by lancing a festered finger and bandaging her small daughter's skinned knee.

When the others arrived, George, who had not been idle during his wait, told me that Jouy was almost empty of inhabitants, and that most of the people from Mery-sur-Marne, a village near Villiers, were lodging for the night on bales of hay in the school house and town hall.

Our meal over, none of us needed persuading to retire and the idea of a bed lured me early to my room.