My Home in the Field of Honor Part 2

The journey drew to a close without any further remarkable incident. It seemed to me that we pa.s.sed more up trains than usual, but were not a moment overdue. There was nothing to complain of. As we approached La Villette and drew into the Gare de l'Est everybody noticed the extraordinary number of locomotives that were getting up steam in the yards. There were rows and rows of them, just as close together as it was possible to range them, and as far as the eye could see their glittering boilers extended down the tracks in even lines. Each one had a freshly glued yellow label, on which was printed in big black capitals the name of its home station. That was the most significant preparation we had witnessed as yet. Presently we observed that the platforms of freight and express depots had been swept clear of every obstacles and the usually enc.u.mbered Gare de l'Est was clean and empty as the hand of man could make it.

In the courtyard our party separated, promising to meet for the five o'clock express--"Unless something serious prevents."

I accompanied H. to the _Caserne des Minimes_ where he went to see if his military situation was registered up to date in his _livret_, and all along the streets leading from the station we met women silently wiping their eyes.

What a sight the courtyard of that barracks presented! Some five or six thousand men of all ages, cla.s.ses and conditions who up until that moment had never thought that the loss of a military book entailed the slightest consequence, had one and all been pushed by that single thought, "Be ready for duty." Here they were, boys of twenty and men of forty, standing in line, braving their all-time enemy, the _gendarme_, each silently waiting his turn to explain his situation. To the credit of the _gendarme_ and all those in authority, it must be said that contrary to their usual custom they acted like loving fathers with these prodigal sons of the Republic--possible information without the sign of a grumble, and advising those who were still streaming in at the door to come back towards five o'clock, when the line should have advanced a little. It was then scarcely ten A. M.!

H. had finished in no time.

"All I've got to do is to go home and wait until I am called for," he explained as we walked away at a brisk gait.

Like most country people when they come to town I had numerous errands to do, so we set off towards the _Bazar de l'Hotel de Ville_, renowned for its farming implements.

At the corner of the Rue des Archives we met Monsieur Gauthier on his way to his Museum.

"_Grave--tre's grave--la situation, Monsieur_," was all he could say.

"What would you advise us to do?"

"Well, to speak plainly, I should advise you to shut up the chateau, leave a guardian, and open your Paris apartment. You're in the east, you know! I shall go down by the five train and bring back Elizabeth and the children. I'd be easier in my mind if I knew they were in a big city! I If you have to leave, Madame Huard would be better off here."

H. was very sober as we left Mr. Gauthier.

"Bah! Cheer up! I'm afraid our friend is an alarmist. You know he has two young children!"

We entered the Bazar, which is the "biggest" of the big stores in Paris.

Every day in the week, and Sundays included, it is usually so crowded with buyers and sellers that one has to elbow one's way, and literally serve one's self. To our amazement it was empty--literally empty. Not a single customer--not a single clerk to be seen. The long stretches of floor and counters were vacant as though the store were closed. I gasped a little in surprise and just as I did so a female voice from behind a distant desk called out:

"What is your pleasure, Madame?"

I turned, and a little woman in black advanced towards me.

"Yes, I know the place looks queer, but you see all our clerks are young men and everyone of them has been obliged to join his regiment since closing time last evening!"

"Leave farming alone and come over to Conard's. He's bound to have some news," said H. impatiently.

Conard's is a big publishing firm on the boulevard, renowned as a meeting place for most of the well-known political men.

Conard greeted us in silence. He knew no more than we, and we fell to talking of the latest events and trying to come to a conclusion. Then one of the _habitues_ stepped in.

"_Eh bien, Monsieur_, what news?"

The person addressed kept on perusing the t.i.tles of the books spread along the counter, and drawing a long puff from his cigarette and without lifting his eyes, said, "The mobilization is for four o'clock!

Official. Have you something entertaining to read on my way to the front?"

"_What?_"

"Yes, gentlemen."

"War?"'

"It looks very much like it!"

Though almost expected, the news gave us a thrill. We stood spellbound and tongue-tied.

What to do? There were so many decisions to be made at a moment's notice! H. was for our coming to Paris, as all the men must necessarily leave the chateau.

"Mobilization doesn't necessarily mean war, man. Besides if it does come it can't last long. You'd better go back to your place in the country, Huard. A big estate like that needs looking after," said Conard.

"Where do you live?" questioned the gentleman who had given us the news.

"Villiers--sixty miles _east_ of Paris."

"Well, if you decide to go there I advise you to take the soonest train.

The eastern railway belongs to the army, and only the army, beginning at noon to-day."

H. looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven, and our next train left at noon sharp. We jumped into a taxi.

"Drive to the Gare de l'Est and on the way stop at Tarides! We must have maps, good road maps of the entire north and east," said H., turning to me.

It seemed as though he had had that thought in common with the entire Parisian population, for all down the boulevards the bookshops and stationers were already overflowing with men, chiefly in regimentals, and as to the shoe-shops and boot-makers--there was a line waiting outside of each. Yet there was no excitement, no shouting, not even an "extra."

What a different sight our station presented to that of two hours before! The great iron gates were shut, and guarded by a line of _sergents de ville_. Only men joining their regiments and persons returning to their legitimate dwellings were allowed to pa.s.s. And there were thousands of both. Around the grillwork hovered dense groups of women, bravely waving tearless adieux to their men folk.

After a.s.suring himself that there was still a noon train, H. led me to the restaurant directly opposite the station.

"We'll have a bite here. Heaven knows what time we shall reach home!"

The room was filled to overflowing; the lunchers being mostly officers.

At the table on our right sat a young fellow whose military harnessings were very new and very stiff, but in spite of the heat, a high collar and all his trappings he managed to put away a very comfortable repast.

On our left was a party composed of a captain, his wife and two other _freres d'armes_. That brave little Parisian woman at once won my admiration, for though, in spite of superhuman efforts, the tears would trickle down her face, she never gave in one second to her emotion but played her part as hostess, trying her best to put her guests at ease and smilingly inquiring after their family and friends as though she were receiving under ordinary circ.u.mstances in her own home.

At a quarter before noon we left them and elbowed our way through the ever-gathering crowd towards our train.

"The twelve o'clock express--what platform?" H. inquired.

"The ten o'clock train hasn't gone yet, Monsieur!"

"Is there any danger of its _not_ going?"

"Oh, no; but there's every danger of its being the last."

And the man spoke the truth, for as our friend the politician predicted, at noon military authority took over the station and all those who were so unfortunate as to have been left behind were obliged to wait in Paris three mortal weeks. On the Eastern Railway all pa.s.senger service was immediately sacrificed to the transportation of troops.

It seems to me that this was the longest train I have ever seen. The coaches stretched far out beyond the station into torrid sunlight. Every carriage was filled up to and beyond its normal capacity. There could be no question of what cla.s.s one would travel--it was travel where one could! Yet no one seemed to mind. I managed to find a seat in it compartment already occupied by two young St. Cyr students in full uniform and white gloves, a very portly aged couple and half a dozen men of the working cla.s.ses.

"We'll take turns at sitting, Monsieur," said one of them as H. pushed further on into the corridor.