My Home in the Field of Honor Part 20

What a happy idea! A quarter of a mile higher up the bank I found a well secluded spot, and plunged into the refres.h.i.+ng current. It was the first time I had had my boots off since leaving Villiers. Thanks to a small pocket gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.tered 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 gla.s.ses.

"What can you see?" I asked as the _charette_ pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s 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 sh.e.l.l, 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 doc.u.ments, and their maid strapped to the steps of the car.

We set up a shout which stopped them. "We stayed until a sh.e.l.l 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 hea.r.s.e, preceded by the clergy and followed by the mourners (the men in evening dress and the women in their Sunday clothes), rounded the corner, pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.se, 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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.ses 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 ma.s.s 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 ma.s.s 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 hea.r.s.e 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.