"Why, come right in. We were just going to sit down to dinner."
I said I was not alone, and must first look after the others. Without
waiting a second, Maitre Baudoin crossed over to the town hall and soon
returned with a key in his hand.
"Here, here's the key to a bakery--there are rooms above. Your people
can lodge there and you come in with us. All this will be over in a day
or so; the news is good to-day. The Germans will never reach the
Marne!"
I went and fetched our delighted caravan, and after safely depositing
them in their new residence, I was crossing the main street to join my
friends, when a big military auto whisked into the middle of the square
and halted. Ten seconds later it was followed by a dozen others, and by
the time I had reached the Baudoins' the place was literally lined with
motors, containing officers and orderlies. We were just sitting down
when some one pounded on the door and a deep authoritative voice called
out, "You're to lodge a general and two officers!" And we could hear
the man hastily chalking the names on the door.
Madame Baudoin looked from me to her husband, her eyes wide open with
astonishment. The meal was forgotten and we hurried out into the
twilight to seek news. The _Etat Major_ of a cavalry division was to
bivouac at Rebais, would be leaving at midnight.
My friends understood, and they who had not as yet seen a soldier since
the war began, realized for the first time that they were now in the
midst of the retreating army. I begged them to make ready for flight
and they hurried homewards while I returned to the bakery to hold
council.
As I reached the door, someone touched me on the shoulder and an
officer, pointing to the Red Cross armlet I was wearing, said:
"Go to the hospital at once. We need your services. Wounded."
"Very well, sir," I replied, and stepped inside.
"Madame Guix! Madame Guix!" I called in the stairway from the shop.
The others came clattering down all excitement, saying that Madame Guix
had been recognized by her uniform and sent flying to the hospital.
Just then a shadow barred the entrance door and turning I saw an army
chauffeur standing there.
"A piece of bread for God's sake," he begged.
"What?"
"Yes, I'm nearly dead of hunger. We've had no time to cook our food,
and bread has been lacking for two days."
I looked about me--the bread boxes were empty. I had no right to do so,
but I opened all the cupboards. The least I could do was pay, if the
bakers appeared. I found a stale loaf and chopped it in four with the
big knife near the counter. The way that poor fellow bit into it brought
tears to my eyes.
"Wait a minute," I said as he turned away, and I rushed out to the court
where my cart was standing. In a moment I was back with a slice of ham
and some sweet chocolate and Julie came up with a glass of water.
I was about to ask questions when another form appeared, followed by
still another.
"Bread--oh, for heaven's sake, bread!" they implored. Apparently there
was no reason why I should not go on with my new trade until all the
hungry chauffeurs in the army were satisfied. But remembering the
wounded, I turned over my job to Julie, with orders to deal out the
bread as long as it lasted and to go lightly with the chocolate, as my
provision was not endless.
What a different aspect the main square presented to that of an hour
before! Motors were lined up four deep on all sides, and I was obliged
to elbow my way through the crowds of gapers, refugees, and officers
that thronged the street.
"Have you come for the wounded?" questioned a white-capped sister as I
closed the convent door and strode up the steps.
"Yes, sister."
"Heaven be praised! Come this way, quickly. Your nurse is here, but
cannot suffice alone. We're of no use--there are only five of us to
look after the almshouse, and a hundred refugees. We know nothing of
surgery or bandaging."
All this was said sweetly and quietly as we hurried down a long
corridor. In the middle of a big, well-lighted room stood Madame Guix
bandaging the arm of a fine looking fellow, who shut his eyes and grated
his teeth as she worked. On a half-dozen chairs sat as many men, some
holding their heads in their hands, some doubled in two, others
clenching their fists in agony. Not a murmur escaped them. The floor in
several places was stained with great red patches.
"Quick, Madame Huard. We must stop the hemorrhages at all costs. The
wounds are not bad, since the men have come on foot, but one never can
tell with this heat."
A sister tied a white apron around me and in a second I had washed my
hands and begun. The first shirt I split, my heart leapt to my lips. I
was neither a novice nor a coward, but the sight of human blood flowing
so generously and given so ungrudgingly, gave me a queer feeling in my
throat. A second later that had all passed over and as I worked I
questioned the young fellows as to home and family and finally at what
place they had been wounded. Some did not know, others named unfamiliar
corners, but La Tretoire startled me. Our morning halt! Then the
invaders had crossed the Marne? For these were not wounds from
exploding shell but Mauser bullets and pistol shots!
Meanwhile the sisters brought iron beds and soft mattresses into the
next room, and each boy in turn was put to rest. Fortunately there was
nothing very serious, for we had no doctor and knew not where to find
one. When we reached our last patient he was so limp that we feared he
would faint. Imagine, if you can, what it is to cut away a stout pair
of trooper's boots, and undress an almost helpless man whose clothes are
fairly glued to the skin with blood, dirt and perspiration.
"Hold the ammonia closer to his nose," said Madame Guix, tugging at a
wire that served as boot lace.
"I'm afraid he's exhausted. There he goes--" I had just time to catch
the body as it slid from the chair.
Madame Guix grasped his wrist.
"His pulse is good. Hold fast till I get my needle."
The boy's lips parted and a familiar sound filled the room.
"He's not fainted!" I gasped. "He's asleep! Snoring!"
Poor little fellow, a bullet in the shoulder and one in the shin, and
yet fatigue had overcome the pain! When we finally had to wake him, he
apologized so nicely for the trouble he had given us, and sighed with
delight when he touched the cool linen sheets.
"You must have found me a pretty mess. I haven't been out of my saddle
for three weeks, and we've been fighting every minute since we left
Charleroi."
Our patients all asleep, Madame Guix and I sought a moment's rest in the
open. A door in the corridor led out into a lovely old-world garden,
surrounded on four sides by a delicately plastered cloister. The harvest
moon shone down, covering everything with a silver sheen, and such quiet
and calm reigned that it was almost impossible to believe that we were
not visitors to some famous landscape, leisurely enjoying a long-planned
trip.
We were given no time to dream, however, for hasty footsteps in the
corridor and the appearance of a white-robed sister carrying a gun, told
us that our task was not yet finished.
On a bench in the cloister, his head buried in one arm, the other tied
up in an impromptu sling, we found a blue-coated soldier. He was the
image of despair, and though we gently questioned him, he only shook his
head from side to side without answering. Finally I sat down on the
bench beside him and gently stroking his well arm, pleaded that he would
tell us his trouble so that we might help him. He drew his head up with
a jerk, and turning on me with an almost furious look in his big black
eyes, he snapped, "Are you married?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what it is. My God, my wife and babies, shut up in
Valenciennes. It isn't this that's killing me," he continued, slapping
his bandaged arm. "It's only a flesh wound in the shoulder. But it's
the other--the other thoughts. I've seen them at their work, the pack
of cursed cowards! but if they ever touch my wife! Perhaps they have,
the dirty blackguards, and I'm not there to defend her. Curse them all!"
And he beat his fist on his knees in rage. Then anger, and agony having
reached paroxysm, his lips trembled, his mouth twitched, and brusquely
throwing his arm around my neck, he buried his head on my shoulder and
burst into tears.
The first instant of surprise over, it would have been stupid to be
offended. The circumstances were such that it was impossible not to be
moved.
I had never seen a man weep before; I never want to again. For a full
quarter-hour he sobbed like a child--this great sturdy fellow of
thirty-five, and through the mist in my eyes I could see that my
companion had turned her back on us and was fumbling for her
handkerchief in her pocket.
Then little by little the choking sound disappeared, his shoulders
ceased to heave and shake, and a moment later our soldier lifted his
head and blubbered an apology.
"Forgive me--you've done me so much good. I know I'm a fool, but it had
to come--I just couldn't stand it another minute--" and other similar
phrases, which we nipped in the bud by asking if he would like a cup of
hot soup, or come into the dispensary when we could bandage his wound.
"Anywhere where it's light. I want you to see her picture--she'd think
you're great."
And so before he would let us touch his wound, we had to feel in his
breast pocket and draw forth a wallet from which he produced the
cherished photographs.
At length we completed his bandaging and I left Madame Guix to add the
finishing touches and went to the kitchen where Soeur Laurent was
standing over a huge range, ladling soup from two immense copper
boilers. There were men, women and children holding out cups and mugs,
a half-dozen dusty cavalrymen were skinning two rabbits in one corner,
and as many other soldiers were peeling vegetables which they threw into
another pot full of boiling water.
This was no time to ask permission. The poor sister was already half
distracted by the demands of the famished refugees and combatants, so
taking a ladle from the wall, I dipped into the pot and strained some
bouillon into a few cups that I found in a cupboard. I intended giving
this to our patients should they wake and call for drink, and I was just
lifting my tray to go when a loud thumping on the front door made me set
it down in haste.
I looked at Soeur Laurent, who was preparing to answer the summons, much
to the dismay of the soldiers.
"I'll go," I called, and hurried out into the vestibule and down the
wide white marble steps. As I threw back the huge oak door someone
brushed past me, calling "Two men and a stretcher," and there in the
brilliant moonlight I beheld the most ghastly spectacle I had as yet
witnessed.
Thrown forward in his saddle, his arms clasped about the horse's neck,
was the form of a dragoon. The animal that bore him had once been
white, but was now so splashed with blood that it was impossible to tell
what color was his originally. Both man and beast were wounded, badly
wounded, and how they had come here was a miracle.
The alarm had reached the kitchen and hurrying forward, the troopers
soon lifted their comrade from his mount and carried him in. A lance
had pierced his thigh and the horse's flank, which meant that it had
been a hand-to-hand fight, and the blood still flowing freely, proved
that the combat was not an hour old!
Madame Guix and I were doing our best when the white face's of my notary
and his wife appeared at the door of the dispensary.
"Madame Huard, we've come to tell you you must go!"
"Go?"
"Yes, it is two o'clock and the general who was quartered on us slept
four hours and has gone. When leaving he warned us that the battle
would be on here by morning. We who have a motor are safe, but you who
have but horses must flee at once!"
"But I can't leave the wounded!"
"But you must. The worst that can happen to them is to be made
prisoners--more than likely they will be carried away by one of our
emergency ambulances. But think of all the young people who look to you
for protection! You cannot desert them; you must go!"