My Home in the Field of Honor Part 16

"I know, but I got lost and had three bad punctures."

Here were marching orders for fair, and if I intended obeying enough time had already been lost. To stay in spite of everything was to be responsible for all the young lives that looked to me, for protection.

Could I promise it? No. Then go it was!

At that same moment and as though to reinforce my decision, the strange clattering noise I had observed growing nearer and nearer during the last two days broke on the night air.

"Hark!" said the boy. "_La mitrailleuse!_"

"The machine guns!" I echoed.

"_Oui, Madame._"

That sufficed. "We'll be leaving in ten minutes. Go to the kitchen.

I'll send someone to look after you and we'll go together."

All this had transpired in less time than it takes to tell it. Awakened by the bell, the refugees in the stables came pouring into the courtyard. A second later, George, lantern in hand, came running towards me.

"Tell Leon to harness Cesar--then go and wake Julie and say that we are leaving in ten minutes. I expect her, and her family, with their horse, to be ready. The courtyard in ten minutes. Mind!"

On the landing I met Madame Guix already fully dressed.

"_Nous partons,_" was all I said. She understood and followed me towards Yvonne's room.

The two children, their teeth chattering, looked towards us in terror.

"Nini, put on the warmest clothes you possess and help Madame Guix to dress Yvonne. Then go to the kitchen and wait there without moving."

My own toilet was brief, and five minutes later, lamp in hand, I was pounding on all the doors of the long corridors, fearful lest some one be forgotten and locked in the house. When I reached the second floor I bethought me of the woman and her two children, and as I advanced I called, "Don't be frightened. This is merely a warning!"

The poor soul must have been dreaming, for when I touched her door she screamed, and as I opened it and held the lamp over my head, I could see the two little creatures clinging to their mother, who on her knees begged, "Take me, but spare my babies!"

I had some difficulty in rea.s.suring her, but finally succeeded, and left her to go below to the hospital.

At the first alarm, the women who were sleeping there had fled in terror, and when a.s.sured that all were gone, for safety's sake I went up into the vestibule and standing at the foot of' the stairs, called, "All out! All out! I'm closing up and leaving!"

No one answering, I judged that my summons had been obeyed, and so hurried back to my own room to fetch jewels, kodak and pets. On my way down I opened H.'s wardrobe and grabbed several overcoats, confident that the boys would forget theirs and need them.

In the courtyard I found Julie and her family already perched on the hay-cart, where Yvonne had been hoisted and lay moaning, well covered in a blanket. Both horses were hitched and my servants waiting orders.

Beside ours, other big drays were being prepared for flight, yet there was no confusion--no loud talking--no lamenting. I then told the boys to hurry to the farm yard and open all the gates so that the poultry and cows could have free access to the entire estate, which is closed in by a wall. I was thus certain that though they might feel hungry they, would not die for want of food or water during the short time I intended to be gone.

This done, I went to the kitchen where I found Nini, who had obeyed orders not to move but who had presence of mind enough to lay out bread and jam and wine for the famished youth who had brought the message.

In the lamplight I caught sight of my road maps on the refectory wall, and setting my jewel box on the table I began unpinning and carefully folding them and put them in the pocket of my motor coat. Almost at the same instant, the lamp flickered and Leon came in to say that all the dogs were found save the beagle hound and three fox terrier puppies, who, frightened by the bell and the commotion, had hidden in the hay lofts. We went out, and I called and whistled in vain--none of them appeared.

All this had taken more time than I expected. The wagons full of refugees had disappeared, and we were alone.

"_En route!_" I called, climbing into the _charette_, a big lump rising in my throat.

"_En route!_" called George.

Once again I counted our party to be sure all were there, and then slowly the heavy-laden hay-cart pulled out of the courtyard onto the high road.

The first ten steps that my horse took he limped so painfully that my heart sank in my boots.

What nonsense, this departure! The poor beast would break down and we'd have to shoot him by the wayside, and other similar cheerful thoughts fled through my brain as we jogged up the narrow village street.

In front of the town hall I halted, first of all to rest my steed, secondly to await George and Leon, who had remained behind to shut the entrance doors and bolt the gate, and finally because I was astonished to see all the windows illuminated.

I Jumped down and approaching one of the panes looked through and saw the entire munic.i.p.al council seated in a semi-circle, their faces grave with anxiety. Presently the boys, accompanied by H.'s messenger, rode up on their bicycles and handed me the keys. I entered the room where Mr.

Duguey, the schoolmaster and town clerk, greeted me.

"Gentlemen, I've come to give you the keys to my estate. I've received a message from my husband begging me to leave at once."

"Then make haste, Madame, while there is still time. We are just about to beat the call to arms and warn the population that those who hope to escape must leave at once. Though we have no official orders to do this we have taken it on ourselves, for we now know for certain that the Uhlans have surrounded the village and are awaiting daylight to take possession. They are probably bivouacking on the heights in your park."

Then the old peasant woman had not lied! Those were really Uhlans she had seen in the _bois de la Mazure_. Ye G.o.ds, and here I was trying to get away with a lame horse! Thank heaven, the Marne was not far! I would cross it and then await developments.

The clock in the little church struck two and an owl hooted mournfully in the belfry as silently our cortege plodded up the steep incline. When we reached the summit I could not resist turning around and casting a long affectionate glance on my lovely home-shining like a fairy palace in its setting of wonderful trees. Who could tell? I might never see it again!

George, too, must have been penetrated with the same sentiment, for he rode up close to the cart and grasping the mud guard, turned on his saddle and wistfully shaking his bead, gave vent to his feelings by the following very inelegant but extremely expressive e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n:

"_Quels cochons! vous cha.s.ser d'une propriete parcille!_"

A long shiver of emotion crept down my spine, and though it was but the second of September I instinctively drew the fur collar of my coat closer about my throat.

In front of me I could bear the wheels of our heavy-laden hay-cart creaking as the big farm horse plodded on. Its occupants were silent, and thanks to the moon and the lantern which hung up high behind, I could see Julie and Madame Guix nodding with sleep.

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 pa.s.sed 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 Pet.i.t Morin; another announced that we had come seventeen kilometers and a third proffered that it was 6:30 A.