DJACK
There came a day when he did not see Maryette as he left for the corral in
the morning.
Her father, very stiff with rheumatism, sat in the sun outside the arched
entrance to the inn.
"No," he said, "she is going to be gone all day today. She has set and
wound the drum in the belfry so that the carillon shall play every hour
while she is absent."
"Where has she gone?" inquired Burley.
"To play the carillon at Nivelle."
"Nivelle!" he exclaimed sharply.
"_Oui, monsieur._ The Mayor has asked for her. She is to play for an hour
to entertain the wounded." He rested his withered cheek on his hand and
looked out through the window at the sunshine with aged and tragic eyes.
"It is very little to do for our wounded," he added aloud to himself.
Burley had sent twenty mules to Nivelle the night before, and had heard
some disquieting rumours concerning that town.
Now he walked out past the dusky, arched passageway into the sunny street
and continued northward under the trees to the barracks of the
Gendarmerie.
"_Bon jour l’ami Gargantua!_" exclaimed the fat, jovial brigadier who had
just emerged with boots shining, pipe-clay very apparent, and all rosy
from a fresh shave.
"Bong joor, mon vieux copain!" replied Burley, preoccupied with some
papers he was sorting. "Be good enough to look over my papers."
The brigadier took them and examined them.
"Are they _en règle_?" demanded Burley.
"_Parfaitement, mon ami._"
"Will they take me as far as Nivelle?"
"Certainly. But your mules went forward last night with the Remount----"
"I know. I wish to inspect them again before the veterinary sees them.
Telephone to the corral for a saddle mule."
The brigadier went inside to telephone and Burley started for the corral
at the same time.
His cream-coloured, wall-eyed mule was saddled and waiting when he
arrived; he stuffed his papers into the breast of his tunic and climbed
into the saddle.
"Allongs!" he exclaimed. "Hoop!"
------------------
Half way to Nivelle, on an overgrown, bushy, circuitous path which was the
only road open between Nivelle and Sainte Lesse, he overtook Maryette,
driving her donkey and ancient market cart.
"Carillonnette!" he called out joyously. "Maryette! C’est je!"
The girl, astonished, turned her head, and he spurred forward on his
wall-eyed mount, evincing cordial symptoms of pleasure in the encounter.
"Wee, wee!" he cried. "Je voolay veneer avec voo!" And ere the girl could
protest, he had dismounted, turning the wall-eyed one’s nose southward,
and had delivered a resounding whack upon the rump of that temperamental
animal.
"Allez! Go home! Beat it!" he cried.
The mule lost no time but headed for the distant corral at a canter; and
Burley, grinning like a great, splendid, intelligent dog who has just done
something to be proud of, stepped into the market cart and seated himself
beside Maryette.
"Who told you where I am going?" she asked, scarcely knowing whether to
laugh or let loose her indignation.
"Your father, Carillonnette."
"Why did you follow me?"
"I had nothing else to do----"
"Is that the reason?"
"I like to be with you----"
"Really, monsieur! And you think it was not necessary to consult my
wishes?"
"Don’t you like to be with me?" he asked, so naïvely that the girl blushed
and bit her lip and shook the reins without replying.
They jogged on through the disused byway, the filbert bushes brushing axle
and traces; but presently the little donkey relapsed into a walk again,
and the girl, who had counted on that procedure when she started from
Sainte Lesse, did not urge him.
"Also," she said in a low voice, "I have been wondering who permits you to
address me as Carillonnette. Also as Maryette. You have been, heretofore,
quite correct in assuming that mademoiselle is the proper form of
address."
"I was so glad to see you," he said, so simply that she flushed again and
offered no further comment.
For a long while she let him do the talking, which was perfectly agreeable
to him. He talked on every subject he could think of, frankly practicing
idioms on her, pleased with his own fluency and his progress in French.
After a while she said, looking around at him with a curiosity quite
friendly:
"Tell me, Monsieur Burley, _why_ did you desire to come with me today?"
He started to reply, but checked himself, looking into the dark blue and
engaging eyes. After a moment the engaging eyes became brilliantly
serious.
"Tell me," she repeated. "Is it because there were some rumours last
evening concerning Nivelle?"
"Wee!"
"Oh," she nodded, thoughtfully.
After driving for a little while in silence she looked around at him with
an expression on her face which altered it exquisitely.
"Thank you, my friend," she murmured.... "And if you wish to call me
Carillonnette--do so."
"I do want to. And my name’s Jack.... If you don’t mind."
Her eyes were fixed on her donkey’s ears.
"Djack," she repeated, musingly. "Jacques--Djack--it’s the same, isn’t
it--Djack?"
He turned red and she laughed at him, no longer afraid.
"Listen, my friend," she said, "it is _très beau_--what have you done."
"Vooz êtes tray belle----"
"_Non!_ Please stop! It is not a question of me----"
"Vooz êtes tray chick----"
"Stop, Djack! That is not good manners! No! I was merely saying that--you
have done something very nice. Which is quite true. You heard rumours that
Nivelle had become unsafe. People whispered last evening--something about
the danger of a salient being cut at its base.... I heard the gossip in
the street. Was that why you came after me?"
"Wee."
"Thank you, Djack."
She leaned a trifle forward in the cart, her dimpled elbows on her knees,
the reins sagging.
Blue and rosy jays flew up before them, fluttering away through the
thickets; a bullfinch whistled sweetly from a thorn bush, watching them
pass under him, unafraid.
"You see," she said, half to herself, "I _had_ to come. Who could refuse
our wounded? There is no bell-master in our department; and only one
bell-mistress.... To find anyone else to play the Nivelle carillon one
would have to pierce the barbarians’ lines and search the ruins of
Flanders for a _Beiaardier_--a _Klokkenist_, as they call a carillonneur
in the low countries.... But the Mayor asked it, and our wounded are
waiting. You understand, _mon ami_ Djack, I had to come."
He nodded.
She added, naïvely:
"God watches over our trenches. We shall be quite safe in Nivelle."
A dull boom shook the sunlit air. Even in the cart they could feel the
vibration.
An hour later, everywhere ahead of them, a vast, confused thundering was
steadily increasing, deepening with every ominous reverberation.
Where two sandy wood roads crossed, a mounted gendarme halted them and
examined their papers.
"My poor child," he said to the girl, shaking his head, "the wounded at
Nivelle were taken away during the night. They are fighting there now in
the streets."
"In Nivelle streets!" faltered the girl.
"_Oui, mademoiselle._ Of the carillon little remains. The Boches have been
shelling it since daylight. Turn again. And it is better that you turn
quickly, because it is not known to us what is going on in that wooded
district over there. For if they get a foothold in Nivelle on this drive
they might cross this road before evening."
The girl sat grief-stricken and silent in the cart, staring at the woods
ahead where the road ran through taller saplings and where, here and
there, mature trees towered.
All around them now the increasing thunder rolled and echoed and shook the
ground under them. Half a dozen gendarmes came up at a gallop. Their
officer drew bridle, seized the donkey’s head and turned animal and cart
southward.
"Go back," he said briefly, recognizing Burley and returning his salute.
"You may have to take your mules out of Sainte Lesse!" he added, as he
wheeled his horse. "We are getting into trouble out here, _nom de Dieu_!"
Maryette’s head hung as the donkey jogged along, trotting willingly
because his nose was now pointed homeward.
The girl drove with loose and careless rein and in silence; and beside her
sat Burley, his troubled gaze always reverting to the despondent form
beside him.
"Too bad, little girl," he said. "But another time our wounded shall
listen to your carillon."
"Never at Nivelle.... The belfry is being destroyed.... The sweetest
carillon in France--the oldest, the most beautiful.... Fifty-six bells,
Djack--a wondrous wilderness of bells rising above where one stands in the
belfry, tier on tier, tier on tier, until one’s gaze is lost amid the
heavenly company aloft.... Oh, Djack! And the great bell, Clovis! He hangs
there--through hundreds of years he has spoken with his great voice of
God!--so that they heard him for miles and miles across the land----"
"Maryette--I am so sorry for you----"
"Oh! Oh! My carillon of Nivelle! My beloved carillon!"
"Maryette, dear! My little Carillonnette----"
"No--my heart is broken----"
"Vooz ates tray, tray belle----"
The sudden crashing of heavy feet in the bushes checked him; but it was
too late to heed it now--too late to reach for his holster. For all around
them swarmed the men in sea-grey, jerking the donkey off his forelegs,
blocking the little wheels with great, dirty fists, seizing Burley from
behind and dragging him violently out of the cart.
A near-sighted officer, thin and spare as Death, was talking in a loud,
nasal voice and squinting at Burley where he still struggled, red and
exasperated, in the clutches of four soldiers:
"Also! That is no uniform known to us or to any nation at war with us.
That is not regulation in England--that collar insignia. This is a case of
a franc-tireur! Now, then, you there in your costume de fantasie! What
have you to say, eh?"
There was a silence; Burley ceased struggling.
"Answer, do you hear? What are you?"
"American."
"Pig-dog!" shouted the gaunt officer. "So you are one of those Yankee
muleteers in your uniform, and armed! It is sufficient that you are
American. If it had not been for America this war would be ended! But it
is not enough, apparently, that you come here with munitions and food,
that you insult us at sea, that you lie about us and slander us and send
your shells and cartridges to England to slay our people! No! Also you
must come to insult us in your clown’s uniform and with your pistol--" The
man began to choke with fury, unable to continue, except by gesture.
But the jerky gestures were terribly significant: soldiers were already
pushing Burley across the road toward a great oak tree; six men fell out
and lined up.
"M-my Government--" stammered the young fellow--but was given no
opportunity to speak. Very white, the chill sweat standing on his forehead
and under his eyes, he stood against the oak, lips compressed, grey eyes
watching what was happening to him.
Suddenly he understood it was all over.
"Djack!"
He turned his gaze toward Maryette, where she struggled toward him, held
by two soldiers.
"Maryette--Carillonnette--" His voice suddenly became steady, perfectly
clear. "_Je vous aime_, Carillonnette."
"Oh, Djack! Djack!" she cried in terror.
He heard the orders; was aware of the levelled rifles; but his reckless
greyish eyes were now fixed on her, and he began to laugh almost
mischievously.
"Vooz êtes tray belle," he said, "--tray, tray chick----"
"Djack!"
But the clang of the volley precluded any response from him except the
half tender, half reckless smile that remained on his youthful face where
he lay looking up at the sky with pleasant, sightless eyes, and a sunbeam
touching the metal mule on his blood-wet collar.