ALONG THE MARNE
It may have been two miles out of Rheims that we met the flood. There
had been a heavy shower as we entered the city, but presently the sun
broke out, bright and hot, too bright and too hot for permanence. Now
suddenly all was black again, there was a roar of thunder, and then such
an opening of the water gates of the sky as would have disturbed Noah.
There was no thought of driving through such a torrent. I pulled over to
the side of the road, but the tall high-trimmed trees afforded no
protection. Our top was a shelter, but not a complete one--the wind
drove the water in, and in a moment our umbrellas were sticking out in
every direction, and we had huddled together like chickens. The water
seemed to fall solidly. The world was blotted out. I had the feeling at
moments that we were being swept down some great submarine current.
I don't know how long the inundation lasted. It may have been five
minutes--it may have been thirty. Then suddenly it stopped--it was
over--the sun was out!
There was then no mud in France--not in the high-roads--and a moment or
two later we had revived, our engine was going, and we were gliding
between fair fields--fresh shining fields where scarlet poppy patches
were as pools of blood. There is no lovelier land than the Marne
district, from Rheims to Chalons and to Vitry-le-Francois. It had often
been a war district--a battle ground, fought over time and again since
the ancient allies defeated Attila and his Huns there, checking the
purpose of the "Scourge of God," as he styled himself, to found a new
dynasty upon the wreck of Rome. It could never be a battle ground again,
we thought--the great nations were too advanced for war. Ah me! Within
two months from that day men were lying dead across that very road,
shells were tearing at the lovely fields, and another stain had mingled
with the trampled poppies.
Chalons-sur-Marne, like Rheims and Epernay, is a champagne center and
prosperous. There were some churches there, but they did not seem of
great importance. We stopped for water at Vitry-le-Francois, a hot,
uninteresting-looking place, though it had played a part in much
history, and would presently play a part in much more. It was always an
outpost against vandal incursions from the north, and Francis I rebuilt
and strengthened it.
At Vitry we left the Marne and kept the wide road eastward, for we were
bound now for the Vosges, for Domremy on the Meuse, Joan's starting
place. The sun burned again, the road got hot, and suddenly during the
afternoon one of our tires went off like a gun.
One of our old shoes had blown out at the rim, and there was a doubtful
look about the others. Narcissa and I labored in the hot sun--for there
was no shade from those slim roadside poplars--and with inside patches
and outside patches managed to get in traveling order again, though
personally we were pretty limp by the time we were ready to move, and a
good deal disheartened. The prospect of reaching Vevey, our base of
supplies, without laying up somewhere to order new tires was not bright,
and it became even less so that evening, when in front of the hotel at
St. Dizier another tire pushed out at the rim, and in the gathering
dusk, surrounded by an audience, I had to make further repairs before I
could get into the garage.
Early next morning I gave those tires all a pretty general overhauling.
I put in blow-out patches wherever there seemed to be a weak place and
doubled them at the broken spots. By the time I got done we were
carrying in our tires all the extra rubber and leather and general
aid-to-the-injured stuff that had formerly been under the back seat, and
I was obliged to make a trip around to the supply garages for more.
Fortunately the weather had changed overnight, and it was cool. Old
tires and even new ones hold better on cool roads.
It turned still cooler as we proceeded--it became chilly--for the Fourth
of July it was winterish. At Chalons we had expended three whole francs
for a bottle of champagne for celebration purposes, and when we made our
luncheon camp in a sheltered cover of a pretty meadow where there was a
clear, racing brook, we were too cold to sit down, and drank standing a
toast to our national independence, and would have liked more of that
delicious liquid warmth, regardless of cost. There could hardly have
been a more beautiful spot than that, but I do not remember any place
where we were less inclined to linger.
Yet how quickly weather can change. Within an hour it was warm
again--not hot, but mildly pleasant, even delightful.