My Home in the Field of Honor Part 18

"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 G.o.d, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 st.u.r.dy 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.

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 Cha.s.seurs 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 pa.s.sed.

"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 pa.s.sed 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.