By the aid of their sword-bayonets the Franc-tireurs soon pierced the
wall, and lying at full length a yard apart, replied to the enemy's
fire. Through the smoke they could just make out the upper line of the
wall, and as the Prussians stood up to fire picked them off. Henri
Vaucour crept along the line urging the men to fire slowly.
"They will advance presently," he said. "You can tell by the fire that
they are getting thicker and thicker. We must check their rush."
Five minutes later there was a deep cheer and a crowd of dark figures
leaped over the wall. A flash of fire ran along the line of defenders,
and then as fast as the Chassepots could be reloaded a rolling fire
broke out. So heavy was it that before crossing a third of the
intervening space the Germans wavered, hesitated, and then ran back to
their shelter.
"Bravo! bravo!" Des Valles shouted, springing to his feet in his
excitement, but as he spoke the enemy's fire broke out again, "Vive la
France!" he shouted, and then fell heavily backwards.
His fall was noticed only by those nearest to him, for the Franc-tireurs
were all busy. The rattle of musketry in the houses to their right
showed that the French were still holding their own.
The Germans were apparently waiting for reinforcements before they
attempted another rush against the position held by their invisible
foes. They in turn loop-holed the wall they held and the musketry duel
continued. Between the walls were two lines of low hedges, but the
leaves had fallen and each party could see the loopholes through which
their opponents fired. Henri Vaucour, who was now in command, ordered
half the men to crawl back to the next wall some fifty paces in the rear
and to loop-hole that.
"The next time they come," he said, "they will be too strong for us and
we must fall back." The remainder of the men he placed near the two ends
of the wall, so that as they fell back their comrades behind could open
their fire and so cover their retreat. It was another quarter of an hour
before the Germans made a move. Then a great body of men sprang over the
wall. Forty rifles were discharged simultaneously, then Henri's whistle
rang out. The men leaped to their feet, and at the top of their speed
ran to the wall behind them, from which their comrades were pouring a
stream of fire into the Germans. Several fell as they ran, the rest on
gaining the wall threw themselves over, and as soon as they had reloaded
joined its defenders. The Germans, however, were still pressing on, when
they were taken in flank by a heavy fire from the back of the houses
held by the French, and they got no farther than the wall that had just
been vacated. Then the musketry duel recommenced under the same
conditions as before. The company had already lost thirty men, ten lay
by the wall they had defended, killed by bullets that had passed through
the loop-holes; eight more were stretched on the ground that they had
just traversed. The rest had made their way to the rear, wounded.
Cuthbert had had a finger of the left hand carried away as he was in the
act of firing. He had felt a stinging blow but had thought little of it
until he had taken his position behind the second wall.
"Tie my handkerchief over this, René," he said, "fortunately it is only
the left hand, and a finger more or less makes little odds. Where is
Dampierre? I don't see him."
"I am afraid he is lying under that wall there," Rend said; "at any rate
I don't see him here; he ought to be the third man from me. Minette will
go out of her mind if he is killed," but they had no further time for
talking, and as soon as his hand was bandaged, Cuthbert took his place
at a loophole.
"I think things are better," he said, after a few minutes, to Rend. "The
shells are not falling round us as they did. The heavy guns at St. Maur
must have silenced the German batteries, and I fancy, by the heavy
firing from the other end of the village, that we have been reinforced."
This was indeed the case. For some time the Prussians continued to make
obstinate efforts to advance, but gradually the number of defenders of
the village increased, as the French officers managed to rally small
parties of the fugitives at the bridge and led them forward again, their
efforts being aided by the mounted gendarmes, who, riding among the
soldiers, beat them with the flat of their swords, and literally drove
them forward again.
By eleven o'clock the line of the Franc-tireurs had been thickened by
the fresh arrivals, and the roar of rifles along the wall was
continuous. The French, who had hitherto fought silently, now began to
cheer, and when a regiment came up in something like fair order through
the gardens, its colonel shouted, "Forward men, and drive the Germans
out."
With a cheer of anticipated triumph those who had so stubbornly defended
the position sprang up, and the whole rushed forward against the enemy.
A tremendous volley flashed from the wall in front of them. Cuthbert
felt that he was falling. The thought flashed through his mind that his
foot had caught in something, and then he knew nothing more. When he
recovered consciousness he was lying with a score of others on the floor
of a kitchen. There was a gaping hole in the roof and loop-holes in the
walls, but of this at present he saw nothing. A man with a lantern was
standing beside him? while another was doing something, he didn't know
what, to him.
"What is it?" he muttered.
"You are wounded, mon brave, and seriously I am afraid, but not
fatally--at least I hope not."
"Is this Champigny?"
"Yes."
"Then we have held the village?"
"Yes, we beat the Prussians back all along the line, they could not
stand our artillery-fire. There, I have bandaged you up for the present,
to-morrow morning you will be taken into Paris."
"I should like to go to the American ambulance, if you can manage it,
Doctor," Cuthbert said. "I am an Englishman and have friends there."
"I will manage it if I can for you, lad. Your corps has done splendidly
to-day. Everyone says if it had not been for you, Champigny would have
been lost. So you well deserve anything I can do for you."
The desperate defence of Champigny had indeed saved that portion of the
French army across the river from destruction. It had given time for the
fugitives to rally, and as if ashamed of the panic to which they had
given way, they had afterwards fought steadily and well, and had driven
the Germans back beyond the line they had occupied the night before,
Brie-sur-Marne being now in the possession of the French, having been
carried by a desperate assault, in which General Ducrot led the way at
the head of the troops. During the various operations they had lost
about 1,000 killed and 5,000 wounded.
The four days that had elapsed since Mary Brander had said good-bye to
Cuthbert at the entrance to the ambulance, had effected a marked change
in her appearance. She had returned to her work on the Monday morning,
but no fresh cases had come in, for there had been a lull in the
skirmishes at the outposts. During the last few days the beds had been
cleared out as much as possible to make room for the expected influx,
and there was but little for her to do. After going round the tent of
which she had charge, the American surgeon put his hand upon her
shoulder.
"You are no better, Miss Brander," he said. "This is too much for you. I
did not expect to see you break down, for I have noticed that your
nerves were as steady as those of an old hospital nurse. Though you
naturally lost your color, when standing by with the sponge at some of
those operations, there was no flinching or hesitation; but I see that,
though you did not show it at the time, it has told upon you. I shall be
sorry to lose your services, especially at the present moment; but I
think you had better give it up for a time. We have plenty of
volunteers, you know."
"I will stay on, if you please, Dr. Swinburne. It is not the work, but
the suspense, that has upset me. One has been expecting this dreadful
battle to begin for the last three days, and to know that at any moment
now 200,000 men may fly at each other, and that thousands upon thousands
may be killed is almost too awful to think about. The silence seems so
oppressive, one knows that they are gathering and preparing, and that
while all seems so still, we may suddenly hear the roar of the cannon
all round. I think when it once begins I shall be myself again. It is
the waiting that is so oppressive."
"I can understand that," he said, kindly. "It is the same thing with the
troops themselves. It is the pause before a great battle that shakes the
nerves of the men. As soon as the work begins the feeling passes off and
the man who, a few minutes before, was as weak as a child, feels the
blood rushing hotly through his veins, and the burning desire to get at
his enemy overpowers all sense of danger. Well, as there is really
nothing for you to do to-day, for there are three of you in this tent
and only four beds occupied, you had better put your bonnet on again,
child; a brisk walk will be the best thing for you; try and interest
yourself in what you see passing round you. From what I hear the
fighting will not begin until to-morrow morning, and it must be later in
the day before the wounded begin to come in. So, though you can return
and take charge again to-night if you like, there will be really no
occasion for you to do so until to-morrow, say at twelve o'clock; but
mind, unless you are looking a good deal better, I shall send you off
again; my assistants will need all their nerve for the work we are
likely to have on hand. Indeed, I must beg you to do so, Miss Brander,
nothing is so trying as sitting in idleness. I shall really want your
services to-morrow, and for my own sake, as well as yours, I must insist
upon my orders being obeyed."
Mary Brander conscientiously tried to carry out the doctor's
instructions, walked briskly along the Boulevards, and then going up the
Champs Elysées, and turning to the left, went to the edge of the plateau
above the river, and there sat down on a bench and looked over the
country to the south. There were many groups of people gathered at this
point; most of them, doubtless, like herself, had friends in the army
gathered outside the walls, and were too anxious and restless to remain
indoors; but although her eyes were fixed on the country beyond the
forts, Mary Brander did not take in the scene. She was thinking, as she
had been for the last two days, and was full of regrets for the past.
She had not altogether admitted this to herself, but she knew now that
it was so, although she had fought hard and angrily with herself before
she owned it.
"He was right," she said to herself bitterly, "when he said that I had
not yet discovered that I had a heart as well as a head. We are
miserable creatures, we women. A man can go straight on his way through
life--he can love, he can marry, but it makes no change in his course. I
know I read somewhere that love is but an incident in a man's life,
while it is a woman's all, or something of that sort. I laughed at the
idea then as absurd--now that it is too late I see it is true. He loved
me, or, at least he liked me so much that he thought it was love. I
laughed at him, I told him he was not worthy of a woman's love. He went
away. Here was an end of it, as far as he was concerned. He lost his
property and took to work nobly, and when we met he was just the same as
he had been before, and treated me as if I had been a cousin, and has no
doubt laughed many a time at the thought of that morning in the garden
at Newquay, and indeed thought so little of it that he did not mind my
seeing all those sketches of that woman in his note-books.
"There were three or four of them, too, stuck up on the walls of his
room. Of course she goes there. He said she was a model. Of course he is
fond of her. I should not have thought it of him, but men are wicked and
women are fools," she added, after a pause, "and I do think that I am
one of the most foolish of them. I am like a child who throws away a toy
one minute and cries for it the next. It is horrid, and I am ashamed of
myself, downright ashamed. I hate myself to think that just because a
man is nice to me, and leaves me two pictures if he is killed, that I am
to make myself miserable about him, and to feel that I could give up all
my plans in life for his sake. I understand now how it is that women are
content to remain what they are. It is because nature made them so. We
are like weathercocks, and have no fixed point, but can be turned by a
passing breath.
"We have no rights because we are content to remain slaves. Here is my
life spoilt. A week ago I was my own mistress and felt as free and
independent as any man; now a thrill runs through me at ever
cannon-shot. The things that had seemed so important to me then do not
occupy a thought now. However, I hope I am not quite a fool. I shall
shake it off in time perhaps," and she smiled pitifully, "it will even
do me good. I shall understand things better. Anna used to tell me I was
intolerant and made no allowance for human nature. I laughed then, but
she was right. When this is all over I shall go away. I don't suppose I
shall ever see him again, and I will make up my mind not to think of him
any more. I wonder what he is doing now, whether his corps went out last
night or will go to-day. I hope they won't be in front. They have no
right to put volunteers in front when they have got regular soldiers. It
is downright wicked that he should have enlisted when it was no business
of his. I wonder she let him do it."
Then she broke off, rose to her feet suddenly, and with an angry
exclamation, "Mary Brander, you are a weak fool," she started back at a
quick pace and with head erect. Again she walked round the Boulevards,
and having thoroughly tired herself, made her way home, drank a cup of
bouillon made from horse-flesh, went straight to bed and sobbed herself
to sleep. She woke up with a start. The house shook with the explosion
of heavy guns. She sprang up and went to her window, threw it open, and
looked out.
She could see Forts Issy and Vanvres. Both were firing heavily, while
between the booms of their guns she could hear the reports of others. No
flashes came back from Meudon or any of the Prussian positions. Nor,
though she held her breath to listen, could she hear the sound of
musketry. She struck a match and looked at her watch. It was but one
o'clock. She closed her window and wrapping herself up in her
dressing-gown sat there for some time looking out. Presently the fire
slackened and she crept back into bed, but again rose when the forts
re-opened fire. Then feeling that sleep was impossible she lighted a
candle and forced herself to read until daylight. She was dressing when
the roar again broke out. This time it was away to the left. She threw
on her things, put on her bonnet and cloak, and went out of her room
just as M. Michaud issued from his.
"You are going out, mademoiselle. So am I. I will walk with you if you
will allow me. I think the real thing has begun. The firing last night
was only, I fancy, to rouse the Germans and make them pass as bad a
night as our men were doing, but I think this is the real thing."
Mary was glad of his escort, it seemed to make it more bearable to have
someone to speak to. In a few minutes they reached the spot where she
had sat the day before. A crowd were already collected.
"Where is it?" M. Michaud asked, as they joined a group who were
gathered near the edge of the plateau.
"It is from the southern forts that they are firing," the man said;
"look at the smoke rolling up from them; they are clearing the way for
our men. There, do you see that puff of smoke away on the right? That is
from a battery up at Creteil, and now the Prussian guns on Montmesly,
and all the way round Ville Juif, are answering. The affair is becoming
hot. Listen, the Chassepots are at work."
Indeed, between the sounds of the cannon a continuous murmur could be
heard. It sounded like a railway train passing over a distant viaduct.
"Is there any place where we can see better from?"
"You would see better from the wall over on that side, but no one is
allowed there; half the National Guard are under arms, and have taken
the places on the walls of the mobiles, who have gone out."
"It is wretched seeing nothing here," she said, feverishly. "Do you
think we could get up to the top of the tower of Notre Dame?"
"It is a long way off," M. Michaud said, "and if people are permitted
there you may be sure by this time there is not standing room. Besides,
even from there the distance would be too great to make out the
movements of the troops."
Mary felt that he was right, and with a little shiver said, "I will
hurry back now and will then go down to the ambulance."
She swallowed a cup of coffee in which two eggs from the hidden store
had been beaten up; ate a piece of bread, and then started off. As she
went along she gathered from the talk in the streets that things were
believed to be going on well. The musketry was certainly a good deal
further off, and a light smoke was rising fur out upon the plain. "They
say that we have captured Montmesly, and on this side cannot be far from
Ville Juif."
"Ah, these Prussians have begun to learn what Paris can do."
"I expect William and Bismarck are by this time packing up at
Versailles," another said. "They will know that their day has come to an
end; everyone says they will both be hung if we catch them."
Mary hurried on. She knew that hours must elapse before the wounded
could be brought in, but felt a feverish anxiety to be at the ambulance
and to hear what was said there. Just before she reached it the roar of
the distant combat suddenly increased, but it seemed to her further away
to the left. Dr. Swinburne was standing outside the tents when she came
up.
"Do you know what is going on, sir?" she asked, breathlessly, as she
came up to him.
"I believe that the first firing you heard was the advance of Vinoy, who
moved out under cover of the guns of the southern forts. From all I hear
he has advanced a considerable distance across the plain. I believe that
the firing that has just begun away to the west, is the real battle.
Ducrot is out there with 100,000 men, and Vinoy's attack is but a feint
to draw the Prussians to the south, and so clear the way for Ducrot, who
crosses the Marne and advances through Champigny. I heard the plan last
night from one of Trochu's staff. It seems a good one, and if it is
carried out with spirit I see no reason why it should not succeed. Your
rest has done you good, Miss Brander; your eyes are brighter and you
look more like yourself."
"I feel better, Doctor. I have been rating myself soundly and it has
done me good. I feel quite ready for work again."
The doctor detected a little pathetic ring beneath the almost defiant
tone in which she uttered the words, but he only said--
"We all have need of a scolding occasionally, it acts as a tonic. I
should rather like to be braced up myself for to-night's work."
"It is too bad," Mary said, almost indignantly. "You are always
insisting on our resting ourselves and you have all the work on your
shoulders. There are eight or ten of us, and you are all by yourself."
"Not quite by myself. Mr. Wingfield is of great assistance to me, and
his aid will be invaluable when the rush comes. Besides, a surgeon,
after the first operation or treatment, has little more to do than to
watch his patient, if he has nurses that he can rely upon. As he goes
his rounds he gets their reports, he knows how the patients have passed
the night, and if there is any change in their condition, and if the
wounds require rebandaging you are at hand with all that is necessary.
It is the responsibility rather than the work which tries one. Still, if
one knows that one is doing one's best, and that at any rate the wounded
are very much better cared for, and have much better chances of recovery
here than in the city hospitals, one must be content. Worry does no good
either to one's patients or to oneself. That is a maxim that does for
both of us, Miss Brander. Now you had better go in and get everything
ready. It is probable that some of those wounded early this morning may
soon be brought in."
Mary went in to her marque.
"The child is herself on the list of wounded," the surgeon said, as he
looked after her. "She has been fighting a battle of some sort and has
been hit pretty hard. Her expression has changed altogether. There was a
brisk alertness about her before and she went about her work in a
resolute business sort of way that was almost amusing in a girl of
nineteen or twenty. It was easy to see that she had good health, plenty
of sense, and an abundant confidence in herself. At one moment she would
be lecturing her patients with the gravity of a middle-aged woman, and
five minutes later chattering away with them like a young girl. I should
have put her down as absolutely heartwhole and as never having
experienced the slightest real care or trouble, as never having quite
recognized that she had grown into womanhood. Well, something has
occurred to alter all that. She has received a blow of some sort, and
though she may soon get over it she will never be quite the same as she
was before. If one wasn't so weighed down with work, and had so many
serious matters to think of, she would be an interesting study. I never
quite understood what on earth she is in Paris for by herself at such a
time as this. But there is something that will give me other matters to
think of."
The something was an ambulance wagon which, a minute later, drew up in
front of the hospital, and from that moment there was, indeed, no time
for doctor or nurses to give a thought to anything save the wounded men
who continued to pour in until fully half the 200 beds were occupied.
All these men belonged to Vinoy's division. Dr. Swinburne would take no
more. There was already more work to do than he could get through before
next morning, and none of the wounded who came in later from beyond the
Marne were received there, but were distributed among the other
hospitals and ambulances, at all of which preparations on a very large
scale had been made.
By morning the most pressing part of the work had been done. The wounded
had been made as far as possible comfortable. Some of the bullets had
been extracted, some of the most urgent amputations made. A fresh batch
of nurses arrived to take the places of the white-faced women who had
nobly and steadily-borne their part in the trying work of the night.
"I thank you all, ladies," the doctor said, as they gathered outside the
tents before going away. "Your assistance has been invaluable; no
trained nurses could have shown more nerve and pluck than you have done.
I have just learned that it is not likely that there will be a renewal
of the fighting to-day, and you can therefore go home with the
conviction that you can take your twenty-four hours off duty without
fear that there will be any pressure in your absence. I am going to lie
down myself for three hours. Even a surgeon has nerves, and I must keep
mine steady. There are several operations that must be performed this
afternoon and some bullets to hunt up. I beg you all to force yourselves
to take something as soon as you get to your homes, and then to go to
bed and sleep as long as you can."
It did not seem to Mary Brander when she started that she would be able
to walk home, but the keen air revived her and she kept on until she
entered Madame Michaud's flat.
"Mon Dieu, my child, how white you look," the French lady exclaimed, as
the girl entered the room where she was taking her morning coffee. "What
a night you must have had!"
The need for strength was past now, and Mary sank into a chair and burst
into a fit of hysterical sobbing. Madame Michaud caressed and soothed
her as if she had been an over-tired child.
"There," she said, when Mary recovered a little, "take this cup of
coffee and drink it. I have not touched it and there are two eggs beaten
up in it. Margot will make me some more in a few minutes. Here is a
fresh roll. She made a batch this morning in the oven; try and eat it,
my child, and drink the coffee, and then I will help you into bed."
Mary, with a great effort, ate a mouthful of bread, and drank the
coffee, and in a quarter of an hour was asleep. It was growing dark when
she woke, and remembering the doctor's orders she got up and went into
the sitting-room. Madame Michaud kissed her affectionately.
"Now, you are looking more like yourself, my child; truly you looked
like a ghost when you came in. It is the husband's turn for duty on the
walls so we can sit and have a cosy chat together. Well," she went on,
when Mary had taken a seat that she had placed for her by the stove,
"all is going on famously. We have pushed the Germans back everywhere
and Trochu's proclamation says the plans have been carried out exactly
as arranged. There has not been much fighting to-day, we have hardly had
a gun fired. Everyone is rejoicing, and all the world agrees that now
the Prussians have seen how we can fight they will speedily take
themselves off altogether."
"I hope it is so, Madame Michaud; certainly the wounded said that they
had advanced a long way on the south side, but I have not heard at all
what was done on the other side of the Marne. None of the wounded from
there were brought to our hospital.
"Champigny was taken. They say that there was a hard fight there and we
pushed the Prussians back beyond it ever so far," and Madame Michaud's
arms expressed illimitable distance.
"I suppose there are no reports as to what regiments were engaged," Mary
asked.
"Oh, no, but everyone says that the soldiers fought like lions and that
the National Guard was splendid."
"There were none of the National Guards brought in wounded to our
ambulance," Mary said. "They were all linesmen and mobiles."
"Perhaps there were no National Guards engaged on that side, my dear."
"Perhaps not," Mary agreed. "No, I think they all went out by the east
gates."
"Yes, that was where Ducrot commanded and that was where the great fight
was to be," Madame Michaud said, complacently; "no doubt he wanted to
have the National Guards there."
Mary, having, as the result of her own observations and from imbibing
the very pronunced opinions of Cuthbert as to the efficiency of the
National Guard, formed an estimate the reverse of favorable to that
body, made no reply, but indeed derived some little comfort from a point
of view diametrically opposed to that of Madame Michaud, saying to
herself that Trochu probably sent the National Guard with Ducrot because
it was not likely that they would be called upon to do any serious
fighting there.
"Won't you let the boys in, Madame Michaud?" she said, changing the
subject. "I think their chatter would do me good, my brain seems stupid
still."
The boys were brought in from the next room, where they were doing their
lessons. They were full of the reports they had gathered from their
school-fellows, and if but half of these had been true it was evident
that the remnant of the German army were in full flight towards the
frontier, and that the bravest deeds of antiquity faded into
insignificance by the side of the heroism displayed by the French
soldiers. Their talk and excitement had the effect of rousing Mary and
preventing her thoughts reverting to the scene in the ambulance, and at
half-past nine she again went off to bed feeling more like herself than
she had done for some days.