Читать книгу My Home in the Field of Honor - Frances Wilson Huard - Страница 4

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August first.

The tocsin ceased, but the drum rolled on.

In a moment we had recovered from the first shock, and all went out to the highroad to hear the declaration. To H. and me it was already a thing of the past, but we wanted to see how the peasants would take it.

At Villiers as at Charly, it was the garde champetre who was charged with this solemn mission, and the old man made a most pathetic figure as he stood there with his drumsticks in his hand, his spectacles pushed back, and the perspiration rolling down his tanned and withered cheeks.

"What have you got to say?" queried one woman, who was too impatient to wait until all had assembled.

"Bien de bon—" was the philosophic reply, and our friend proceeded to clear his throat and make his announcement.

It was received in dead silence. Not a murmur, not a comment rose from the crowd, as the groups dispersed, and each one returned to his lodgings.

We followed suit, and I went with H. towards the servants' hall.

"Give me the keys to the wine cellar," said he. "And, Nini," he continued, addressing my youngest maid, aged ten, "Nini, lay a cloth and bring out the champagne glasses. The boys shan't go without a last joyful toast."

There were four of them; four of them whose military books ordered them to reach the nearest railway station, with two days' rations, as soon as possible after the declaration of mobilization. H. had hardly time to bring up the champagne before we could bear the men clattering down the stairs from their rooms. Their luggage was quickly packed—a change of underclothes and a second pair of shoes composed their trousseaux—and Julie came hurrying forward with bread, sausages and chocolate! "Put this into your bags," she said. Though no one had told them, all those who remained seemed to have guessed what to do, for in like manner George, one of the younger gardeners, had hitched the horses to the farm cart and drove up to the kitchen entrance.

A moment later Catherine called me aside and tearfully begged permission to accompany husband and brother as far as Paris. The circumstances were too serious to refuse such a request and I nodded my assent.

"Come on, boys," shouted H. "Ring the farm-bell, Nini, and call the others in."

Their faces radiant with excitement, they gathered around the long table. H. filled up the glasses and then raising his—

"Here's to France, and to your safe return!" said he.

"To France, and our safe return!" they echoed.

We all touched glasses and the frothy amber liquid disappeared as by magic. Then followed a hearty handshaking and they all piled into the little cart. George cracked the whip and in a moment they had turned the comer and were gone.

Gone—gone forever—for in the long months that followed how often did I recall that joyful toast, and now, a year later, as I write these lines, I know for certain that none of them will ever make that "safe return."

Elizabeth Gauthier bore up wonderfully under the strain. She was the first to admit that after all it would have been too trying to say good-bye to her husband. H. and I then decided that it was best for her to bring her children and maid and come over to the chateau where we would share our lot in common. There was no time for lamenting—for the sudden disappearance of cook, butler, and the three most important farm-hands, left a very large breach which had to be filled at once. There was nothing to do but to "double up," and the girls and women willingly offered to do their best.

Julie, the only person over thirty, offered to take over the kitchen. To George and Leon fell the gardens, the stables, the horses, dogs, pigs and cattle. Yvonne, aged seventeen, offered to milk the cows, make butter and cheese, look after the chickens and my duck farm, while Berthe and Nini, aged fourteen and ten, were left to take care of the chateau! Not a very brilliant equipment to run as large an establishment as ours, but all so willing and so full of good humour that things were less neglected than one might imagine.

The excitement of the day had been such that after a very hasty meal we retired exhausted at an early hour. The night was still—so still that though four miles from the station we could hear the roar of the trains as they passed along the river front.

"Hark!" said H. "How close together they are running!"

We timed them. Scarcely a minute between each. Then, our ears becoming accustomed, we were soon able to distinguish the passenger from the freight trains, as well as the empty ones returning to Paris.

"Listen! Those last two were for the troops! That one is for the ammunition. Oh, what a heavy one! It must be for the artillery!" And we fell asleep before the noise ceased. Indeed for three long weeks there was no end to it, as night and day the Eastern Railway rushed its human freight towards the Eastern frontier.

Sunday morning, August second, found us all at our posts as the sun rose. Elizabeth and I drove down to Charly for eight o'clock mass, and all along the road met men and boys on their way to the station. The church was full, but there were only women and elderly men in the assembly; why, we knew but too well, and many wives and mothers had come there to hide their grief. Our curate was a very old man, and the news had given him such a shock that he was unable to say a word after reaching the pulpit and stood there, tongue-tied, with the tears streaming down his face for nearly five minutes—finally retiring without uttering a sound. Not exactly the most fortunate thing that could have happened, for his attitude encouraged others to give way to their emotions, and there was a most impressive silence followed by much sniffling and nose-blowing! All seemed better, though, after the shower, and the congregation disbanded with a certain sense of relief.

Before leaving home H. told me to seek out the grocer, and to lay in a stock of everything she dispensed.

"You see," said he, "we're now cut off from all resources. There are no big cities where we can get supplies, within driving reach, and our grocers will have nothing to sell once their stock is exhausted. We're living in the hope that the mobilization will last three weeks. That will you do if it lasts longer? It never hurts to have a supply on hand!"

"All my salt, sugar and gasoline has been put aside for the army. I was ordered to do that this morning—but come around to the back door and I'll see what I can do for you," said my amiable grocery-woman.

"That's pleasant," thought I. "No gasoline—no motor—no electricity! Privation is beginning early. But why grumble! We'll go to bed with the chickens and won't miss it!"

Madame Leger and I made out a long list of groceries and household necessities, and she set to work weighing and packing, and finally began piling the bundles into the trap drawn up close to her side door.

Our dear old Cesar must have been surprised by the load he had to carry home, but Elizabeth and I decided that a "bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," and one never could tell what astonishing "order" to-morrow might bring forth.

How H. laughed when he saw us driving up the avenue.

"I didn't think you'd take me so literally," said he. "Why, war isn't even declared, and here we are preparing for a siege!"

"Never mind," I returned, "you must remember that there are twelve persons to feed, and we'll soon get away with all I've got here."

The afternoon was spent in arranging our apartments. For convenience sake, we decided to close part of the chateau and all live as near together as possible in one wing. The children and younger servants seemed to consider the whole as a huge joke—or rather, a prolonged picnic party, and the house rang with peals of jolly laughter.

Monday, the third, Elizabeth and I tackled the provisions which were piled high on the table in the servants' hall. A visit to the storeroom and a little calculation showed that there were sufficient groceries already on hand to last the month out.

"Very good," said I. "Now, the rest we'll divide into three even parts—that makes September, October and November assured. By that time we'll know what precautions to take!"

"Well, I should hope so!" came the smiling reply. And we set to work. It all recalled the days of my childhood when I used to play at housekeeping and would measure out on the scales of my dolls' house so much rice, so much flour, so much macaroni, etc. I could hardly believe I was in earnest.

We were right in the midst of our task when our gardeners appeared bearing between them a clothes basket full of plums.

"Madame, they can't wait a day longer. They're ready to cook now."

It was almost a disagreeable surprise, for we were already as busy as we could be. But there was no way of waiting, or the fruit would be spoiled.

"Is that all the plums?"

"Ah, no, Madame, there are fully two baskets more. And in a day or two the blackberries and black currants must be picked or they'll rot on the vines."

"Heaven preserve us!" thought I. "Will we ever come to the end of it all!" But by four o'clock the first basket of plums was stoned, the sugar weighed, and a huge copper basin of confiture was merrily boiling on the stove.

"Where are you going to hide your provisions now you've got them so beautifully tied up?" enquired H., his eyes twinkling.

"Hide them?"

"Yes!"

"What for?"

"In case of invasion."

We all simply shook with laughter.

"Well, if the Germans ever reach here there won't be much hope for us all," I returned.

"No, but joking aside; suppose we suddenly get the French troops quartered on us, are you calmly going to produce your stock, let it be devoured in a day or so, and remain empty-handed when they depart? You see, it isn't the little fellows who'll suffer. A big place like this with all its rooms and its stables is just the spot for a camp!"

That idea had never dawned upon us, and we set to thinking where we could securely hide our groceries in three different places. Finally it was agreed that one part should be put back of the piles of sheets in the linen closet; the second part hidden on the top shelf of a very high cupboard in my dressing-room with toilet articles grouped in front of it; while the third was carried up a tiny flight of stairs to the attic and there pushed through a small opening into the dark space that leads to the beams and rafters. It was all so infantile that we clapped our hands and were as happy as kings when we had discovered such a good cachette.

Night was coming on as I stood pouring the last of the plum jam into the glasses lined up along the kitchen table. Berthe had counted nearly a hundred, and I was seriously thinking of adopting jam-making as a profession, when with much noise and trumpeting, a closed auto whisked up the avenue and stopped before the entrance. I hurried to the kitchen door, untying my apron as I ran, arriving just as an officer jumped from the motor, and before I had time to recognize him in his new uniform, Captain Gauthier rushed forward, exclaiming:

"I've come to fetch Elizabeth and the children!"

The others, too, had heard the motor, and in an instant there was quite an assembly in the courtyard.

"I had great difficulty leaving Paris at all. My passport is only good until midnight," the captain was explaining as his wife and H. appeared, and almost without time for greeting. "Make haste," he continued, turning to Madame Gauthier. "We must be off in a quarter of an hour, or our machine will never reach town on time."

I hurried with Elizabeth to her apartment, where we woke and dressed two very astonished children, while the little maid literally threw the toilet necessities and a few clothes into a huge Gladstone bag.

"Leon evidently doesn't think us safe down here! You'd better come, too," murmured Elizabeth as we went downstairs.

In the meantime, H. had questioned our friend as to what had transpired in Paris within the last twenty-four hours.

"England will probably join us—and there is every possibility of Italy's remaining neutral," he announced, as we made our appearance. And then—"You must come to Paris. You're too near the front here," he continued, as he piled wife, babies and servant into the taxi.

And so, with hardly time for an adieu, the motor whisked away as it had come, leaving H. and me looking beyond it into the night.

When I returned to the pantry, I found Nini weeping copiously. Imagining she had become frightened by the sudden departure of our friends, I was collecting my wits to console and reassure her, when she burst forth, "Oh, Madame—Madame—the pates—"

"Well?"

"The lovely pates!—all burned to cinders! Such a waste!"

In our excitement we had forgotten to take from the oven two handsome Pates de lievre of which I was more than duly proud. And as Nini expressed it, they were burned to cinders. How H. chuckled at our first domestic mishap.

"Fine cooks, you are," said he, turning to Berthe and Nini, who hung their heads and blushed crimson. "And it's to you that I'm going to entrust Madame when I leave!"

Tuesday, the fourth, the drum rolled at an early hour and the garde-champetre announced the declaration of war. It was not news to anyone, for all had considered the mobilization as the real thing.

We were breakfasting when we heard a strange rumbling up the road. It was such a funny noise—midway between that of a steam roller and a threshing machine—that we both went out towards the lodge to see what was passing by. We were not a little surprised on perceiving our gendarmes sitting in an antiquated motor, whose puffing and wheezing betokened its age. They stopped when they saw us, and after exchanging greetings, laughingly poked fun at their vehicle—far less imposing than their well-groomed horses, but the only thing that could cover between seventy and eighty miles a day! From them we learned that the mobilization was being carried out in perfection, and in all their tours to outlying villages and hamlets not a single delinquent had been found—not a single man was missing! All had willingly answered the call to arms!

Between the excitement and all the work that had to be done at Villiers, time passed with phenomenal rapidity. As yet we had had no occasion to perceive the lack of mail and daily papers, and though I had always had a sub-conscious feeling that H. would eventually receive his marching orders, it was rather a shock when they came. Being in a frontier department he was called out earlier than expected. And instead of being sent around-circuit way to reach his regiment south of Paris, he was ordered to gain Chateau Thierry at once, and there await instructions.

Of course I packed and unpacked his bag for the twentieth time since Sunday, in the hope of finding a tiny space to squeeze in one more useful article—and then descending, I jumped into the cart and waited for him to join me. In spite of the solemnity of the moment, I couldn't help laughing when he appeared, for disdaining the immaculate costume I had carefully laid out, he had put on a most disreputable-looking pair of trousers, and an old paint-stained Norfolk jacket. A faded flannel shirt and a silk bandanna tied about his throat completed this weird accoutrement, which was topped by a long-vizored cap and a dilapidated canvas gunny sack, the latter but half full and slung lightly over one shoulder. Anticipating my question, he explained that it was useless to throw away a perfectly new suit of clothes. When he should receive his uniform, his civilian outfit ought to be put in safe keeping for his return. This was customary in time of peace, but who could tell?—he might never even get a uniform, let alone hoping to see the clothes again.

And then, when I began examining the paltry contents of his sack, he made light of my disappointment, saying that his father, who had served in the campaign of 1870, had always told him that a ball of strong string and a jackknife were sufficient baggage for any soldier. I supposed he ought to know, and was just going to ask another question, when—

"Listen," he said, as he put his foot on the step. "Listen—before I forget. My will is at my notary's in Paris, and on your table is a letter to your father—if anything happens to me you know what to do."

We drove away in silence.

I let the horses walk almost all the way home and my thoughts were busy, very busy along the way. Here I was alone—husband and friends had vanished as by magic. My nearest relatives over five thousand miles away—and communication with the outside world entirely cut off, for Heaven knew how long. Evidently there was nothing to do but to face the situation, especially as all those in my employ save Julie were under twenty, and looked to me for moral support. This was no time to collapse. If I broke down anarchy would reign at once.

But what to do? Go on living like a hermit on that great big estate? The idea appalled me. It seemed such a useless existence—and in a few moments' time I had decided to turn the place into a hospital. But how and to whom should I offer it?

I stopped at the Gendarmerie, where our friends were able to give me information.

"The nearest sanitary formation was Soissons—the Red Cross Society. The president would probably be able to help me—" So I thanked the gendarme and left there, having decided to drive thence on the morrow.

Soissons is but twenty miles as a bird flies, but almost double that by the winding roadway, and I was calculating what time I should start and where I would rest the span, as I entered the yard.

"Anything new, George?" I said, as he took the bridle.

"Nothing, Madame, save that we have received orders that all the horses must be presented at Chateau Thierry for the revision to-morrow before ten."

"All the horses?"

"Yes, Madame, with full harnessing, halters and the farm carts."

That was a surprise! Suppose they are all taken, thought I, I shall be almost a prisoner. And my trip to Soissons?

"Don't unharness!" I called, as George drove towards the stable. "I'm going back to Charly."

In our little township I managed to buy a lady's bicycle. "It may come in handy," I thought. It was the last machine that was left. From the shop I went to the hotel.

"Where's your husband?" I said to the proprietress.

"Why, he's gone with the chauffeur to take our motorbuses and taxi to the requisition committee."

"What?"

"Yes, Madame."

"But I wanted him to motor me over to Soissons to-morrow!"

"Well, if he gets back to-night and they leave him a single machine,

I'll let you know, Madame."

In the afternoon the drum beat anew and I learned that all the bakers in the village (there were three of them) having been called to the front, we were likely to be without the staff of life. In the presence, therefore, of the impending calamity, the village government had decided to take over the bakery—it had found an old man and a very young apprentice who would do the work, but each citizen was requested to declare the number of persons composing his household and in order to economize flour, so much bread would be allowed per bead and each family must come and fetch his supply at the town hall between eleven and twelve o'clock!

Needless to say, it must be paid for in cash, though the Board reserved the right to look after the village poor. In like manner, all the salt had been reserved for the army, and we were to be rationed to seventy-five grammes a week per person! It all sounded rather terrible, but when put into practice it was proved that the rations were very generous and no one had reason to complain.

By four o'clock the next morning there was a perpetual stream of farm carts down the road leading towards Chateau Thierry. I dressed and went to the stables where George and Leon were already harnessing. More than once I had a tight feeling in my throat as I patted the glossy backs of dear old Cesar and my lovely span.

The girls had decorated the carts with huge bunches of poppies, daisies and corn-flowers and in addition to these tri-color bouquets, a little branch of laurel was stuck up over each horse's bridle. There was a generous distribution of sugar, and each horse was kissed on the tip of his nose, and then the boys joined the procession on the highroad.

I watched them out of sight. "Shall we ever get through saying 'good-bye'? When will these departures cease?" thought I, as I turned from the gate. But I was given no time to muse, for a most amazing clamor arose from a gateway a little higher up the road, and glancing in that direction, I saw old father Poupard leading his horse and cart into the open. He was followed by his wife and daughter-in-law, two brawny peasant women, who were loudly lamenting the departure of their steed!

"No, no!" literally howled mother Poupard.

"This is the last straw! Both sons gone, and now our horse! Who's going to bring in our crop? The Lord is unjust."

"And brother's babies—poor motherless things—in an orphan asylum at

Epernay! How can we get to them now? Oh, no! Oh, no—" wailed Julia.

"Poupard!" exclaimed his wife, drying her tears on the corner of her apron and fixing her sharp blue eyes on her husband, "Poupard, no loitering! If they pay you for your horse, remember, no foolishness. You bustle back here with the money—we need you to help in the vineyard."

"This is no time for sprees," wept Julia.

"Father Poupard," admonished his irate mate, brandishing a spade,

"Father Poupard, mind what I say!"

And then in a more moderate tone, but which was distinctly audible some thirty yards away, "I've put a bottle into your lunch basket. You won't need to buy anything more."

There was a distinct emphasis on the word buy, which told me that mother Poupard, evidently accustomed to her husband's ways, had provided plentifully for his journey but had carefully emptied his pockets before he started.

I went back to my preserves, but as the day wore on the lack of all communication with the outside world began to prey on me. Towards four o'clock I took my bicycle and started down to Charly. A quarter of a mile from our gate, in front of the town hall, a mason had driven two huge posts, into the ground on either side of the road, and was swinging a heavy chain between them.

I looked askance at the schoolmaster who stood in the doorway surveying the work. He explained that he had received instructions to the effect that all passers-by unknown to this village were to be stopped and asked for their papers. The men and boys who remained were to take turns mounting guard, and thus to help to eradicate the circulation of spies. Two suspicious motors and a man on a bicycle had already been signaled. Should they appear and fail to produce their papers, immediate arrest would follow. Should they offer the slightest opposition or attempt escape, the sentinels had orders to shoot.

I enquired if it would be necessary for we to have a sauf-conduit, being bound for Charly, and possibly the station at Nogent, where I hoped that the soldiers of a passing train would throw me a newspaper.

Mr. Duguey replied that he would gladly present me with the first passport, and seemed wonderfully taken with my idea about the papers. He admitted that living in darkness was beginning to get on his nerves, too, and asked me, in case my plan should prove successful, if I would be willing to put it on the public sign board so all could see the news. I acquiesced willingly, and after he had asked a few questions as to names, age, characteristics and destination, he stamped the seal on my paper, and I departed.

At Charly the same preparations had been made, and two elderly men, leaning on their guns, smiled as I presented my paper for their inspection.

At the hotel, the proprietor had just returned after having waited nearly twenty-four hours in line to present his machines. All save one had been bought for the army. But with his double-seated taxi he promised to drive me to Soissons the following morning.

I continued my road, and reached Nogent to find that I was not alone in my idea about begging the papers. Several others from neighboring villages, so I heard, had already succeeded in obtaining a sheet, and had driven off hastily with their trophies. My proceeding was very simple. It consisted of crossing the rails to the up-train platform, to stand in line with the other women already assembled, there to wait like birds on a fence until a train coming from Paris passed by. Then as it whizzed through the station, we shouted in chorus, "Les journaux! Les jour-naux!"

It worked like magic. We had hardly been there two minutes when a train was signaled.

As it approached, we could see that engine and cars were decorated with garlands of flowers, and trailing vines, while such inscriptions as, "Train de Plaisir pour Berlin," and numerous caricatures had been chalked on the varnished sides of the carriages.

Our appeals were not in vain. With joyful shouts, the boys gladly threw us the papers which were welcomed like the rain of manna in the desert. I managed to collect two, L'Action Franfaise, and Le Bonnet Rouge.

Until others and fresher were procured, the Royalist and the

Revolutionary sheets hung side by side on the public sign board at

Villiers, proving that under the Third Republic, Liberte', Egalite', Fraternite are not vain words.

The news of the violation of Luxembourg and Belgian territory created less sensation than one might have expected. In the circumstances news of any kind seemed a blessing.

There was still quite a gathering in front of the town hall when the first carts began to return from the revision. They were few and far between, compared with the double line that had driven past in the morning. My heart leapt with joy, as I saw George, driving Cesar, turn into the court.

"Too old, Madame," he said, his eyes shining. "Though still so game that they nearly kept him. He's reserved for a second call."

"And Florentin and Cognac?"

The boy put his hand into his pocket and held out a slip of paper. I took it and read, "Bon pour 1,200 francs, prix de 2 chevaux, etc."

"Well, thank God, we've got one left anyhow," thought I as I entered the hall. Just then the gate creaked and I could vaguely distinguish in the deepening twilight the forms of mother Poupard and Julia hurrying towards the stables. I followed.

"George! George!" called Julia.

"Well?" came the answer from within.

"George—where's the old man?" queried mother Poupard in excited tones.

"How do I know?"

"Was our horse taken? Can you tell us that?"

"I think so; yes."

"Then why didn't Poupard come back with you and Leon in the cart? Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Where was he?"

"In front of a cafe as we drove past."

"Oh, the old villain! The wretch! Oh, mon Dieu, what shall we do! Oh, the wicked old man—if I had him here, I'd thrash him good!"

And mother Poupard began brandishing a pitch-fork with such violence that I commenced to fear that failing her delinquent spouse, she would fall upon George to wreak vengeance.

"Oh, the old devil! Oh—"

"Look here, I'm not his nurse—now clear out, the lot of you!"

The injunction served its purpose, for remembering they were "not at home," the two women retired in high dudgeon, wailing and lamenting in such audible tones that their neighbors came out to see what was the matter, and laughed at mother Poupard's threat of what she would do if ever she got le vieux into her clutches.

By six A. M. on the Friday I had breakfasted and was ready to leave for Soissons. The taxi from the Hotel du Balcon made its appearance a few moments later, and after a visit to the town hall, where we secured the necessary passports, we set off on our journey.

At the entrance to every little village we were obliged to halt and exhibit our papers—after which formality the chain would be let down and we allowed to go our way.

Half an hour later as we crossed Chateau Thierry we could see the rows of horses that had not yet been examined lined up along the square. The commissaries had worked all night and their task was still far from finished.

Until we reached Oulchy-le-Chateau, the chains were the only outward signs that betokened the belligerent state of the country, and even then as those who mounted guard were not in uniform, it seemed rather as though we were passing a series of toll-gates. However, as we ran along the splendid roads between the great fertile plains, I observed that the harvesting was being done chiefly by women, and that the roads themselves were empty of any vehicle. Evidently only those who had an important errand were allowed on the routes nationals, thus kept clear for the transport of troops or ammunition.

At Oulchy, half-way to Soissons, we halted at a railway crossing to let a long, lazy train drag out of the station. When at length the bars were drawn up, much excitement reigned on the little platform which we had been unable to see from the other side of the rails. Young girls with pails and dippers in their hands stood chattering with women in wrappers, whose disheveled appearance told plainly that they had been hastily awakened and had hurried thence without thinking of their toilette.

"What is it?" I asked of the garde-barriere.

"Wounded!"

"Wounded?"

"Yes—the first. Not badly wounded and they are able to travel, but unable to hold a gun. And they were all so thirsty!"

Poor fellows, thought I, already out of the ranks and the first week is not yet passed.