Such a week of excitement as we have had. But it has been uplifting
excitement. I feel as if I had never had an ache or a pain, and Time
and Age were not. What with the English advance, the Russian
Revolution, and Zeppelins tumbling out of the heavens, every day
has been just a little more thrilling than the day before.
I wonder now how "Willie,"--as we used to call him in the days when
he was considered a joke,--feels over his latest great success--the
democratic conversion, or I suppose I should, to be correct, say the
conversion to democracy, of all Russia? It must be a queer sensation
to set out to accomplish one thing, and to achieve its exact reverse.
Yesterday--it was Sunday--just capped the week of excitement. It was
the third beautiful day in the week,--full of sunshine, air clear, sky
blue.
In the morning, the soldiers began to drop in, to bring back books and
get more, to talk a little politics, for even the destruction of the
Zeppelin at Compiègne, and the news that the English were at
Bapaume, was a bit damped by the untimely fall of Briand.
The boys all looked in prime condition, and they all had new uniforms,
even new caps and boots. The Canadian, who usually comes alone,
had personally conducted three of his comrades, whom he formally
introduced, and, as I led the way into the library, I remarked, "Mais,
comme nous sommes chic aujourd'hui," and they all laughed, and
explained that it was Sunday and they were dressed for a formal call.
If any of them guessed that the new equipment meant anything they
made no sign. I imagine they did not suspect any more than I did, for
they all went down the hill to lunch, each with a book under his arm.
Yet four hours later they were preparing to advance.
It was exactly four in the afternoon that news came that the French
had pierced the line at Soissons--just in front of us--and that Noyon
had been retaken--that the cavalry were à cheval (that means that
the 23d Dragoons have advanced in pursuit)--and, only a quarter of
an hour after we got the news, the assemblage général was
sounded, and the 118th ordered sac au dos at half past six.
For half an hour there was a rush up the hill--boys bringing me back
my books, coming to shake hands and present me with little
souvenirs, and bring the news that the camions were coming--which
meant that the 118th were going right into action again. When a
regiment starts in such a hurry that it must take a direct line, and
cannot bother with railroads, the boys know what that means.
I know you'll ask me how they took the order, so I tell you without
waiting. I saw a few pale faces--but it was only for a moment. A group
of them stood in front of me in the library. I had just received from the
front, by post, the silk parachute of a fusée volante, on which was
written: "A Miss Mildred Aldrich Ramassé sur le champ de bataille à
20 metres des lignes Boches. Souvenir de la patrouille de Février 22,
1917," and the signature of the Aspirant, and that was the only way I
knew he had probably been on a dangerous mission.
It was the first time that I had ever seen one any nearer than in the
air, during the exercises by night of which I wrote you, and one of the
boys was explaining it, and its action, and use, and everyone but me
was laughing at the graphic demonstration. I don't know why I didn't
laugh. Usually I laugh more than anyone else.
Sometimes I think that I have laughed more in the last two years than
in all the rest of my life. The demonstrator looked at me, and asked
why I was so grave. I replied that I did not know--perhaps in surprise
that they were so gay.
He understood at once. Quite simply he said: "Well, my dear
madame, we must be gay. What would we do otherwise? If we
thought too often of the comrades who are gone, if we remembered
too often that we risked our skins every day, the army would be
demoralized. I rarely think of these things except just after an attack.
Then I draw a deep breath, look up at the sky, and I laugh, as I say to
my soul, 'Well, it was not to be this time, perhaps it never will be.' Life
is dear to each of us, in his own way, and for his own reasons. Luckily
it is not so dear to any of us as France or honor."
I turned away and looked out of the window a moment--I could not
trust myself,--and the next minute they were all shaking hands, and
were off down the road to get ready.
The loaded camions began to move just after dark. No one knows
the destination, but judging by the direction, they were heading for
Soissons. They were moving all night, and the first thing I heard this
morning was the bugle in the direction of Quincy, and the news came
at breakfast time that the 65th Regiment--the last of the big fighting
regiments to go into action at Verdun, and the last to leave, was
marching in. The girl from the butcher's brought the news, and "Oh,
madame," she added, "the Americans are with them."
"The what?" I exclaimed.
"A big American ambulance corps--any number of ambulance
automobiles, and they have put their tents up on the common at
Quincy."
You can imagine how excited I was. I sent someone over to Quincy at
once to see if it was true, and word came back that Captain Norton's
American Corps Sanitaire--forty men who have been with this same
division, the 31st Corps--for many months--had arrived from Verdun
with the 65th Regiment, and was to follow it into action when it
advanced again.
This time the cantonnement does not come up to Huiry--only to the
foot of the hill at Voisins.
Of course I have not seen our boys yet, but I probably shall in a few
days.