My Home In The Field of Honor by Frances Wilson Huard

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Presently someone discovered an abandoned hermitage, through whose low
doorway we crept, and spreading out our blankets on the floor, prepared
to make a night of it--glad of shelter from the dampness.

"Hark!" hissed George, just as we were dropping off to sleep.

We all sat up.

"There! That's the third bullet that's landed on this roof!"

Ra-ta-pan-Ratapan! There was no mistaking the sound--even through the
wind and rain that raged outside.

George crawled on his knees toward the opening, and a second later
jumped back, clapping his hand to his head with a low shriek.

"He's shot!" cried Julie.

I leaped forward, grabbed the lantern, and holding it to the spot,
opened the boy's clenched fingers. As they parted, a heavy horse
chestnut burr fell to the floor with a loud thump!

We were too nervous to appreciate the humor of the situation, and had
some little difficulty composing ourselves to rest.

As we approached Coulommiers the next morning the horrors of war became
more and more evident. On both sides of the roadway the fields were
strewn with bay and straw. Every ten paces the earth was burned or
charred, and in some places the smoke still rose from dying campfires.
Bones, bottles and tin preserve cans in extraordinary quantities were
strewn in every direction, and a half mile before we reached the town
itself, a dead horse lay abandoned in a ditch.

At this point we were hailed by a party of bedraggled refugees who
warned us that it would be useless to try to enter Coulommiers.

"We're from Neuilly--St. Front, on our way home, but there doesn't seem
much chance of our getting any further. The place is in the hands of
the military authorities--with orders to let no one pass."

We halted, and George went on ahead and interviewed a sentry, returning
with a negative reply, and the information that Coulommiers was in a
pretty mess after the looting.

"It can't be worse than _La Ferte Gauche._" And above the almost
deafening roar of the cannon an elderly man told us bow his caravan had
been caught by the Germans, stripped of everything they possessed,
separated from their women folk, and with armed sentries back of them
had been forced to work at the building of a temporary bridge to replace
the one the French had blown up.

"I got off easy--with only a few welts from a raw-hide," he murmured,
"but my brother (and he pointed to a very stout masculine figure rolled
in a blanket and sitting motionless on the steps of an abandoned road
house)--"my brother's nearly done for! You see he's near-sighted and
not used to manual labor, and every time he missed his nail with the
hammer, the German coward would jab him in the ribs with the point of
his bayonet. Seventy-two wounds!"

"And your women?"

"God knows what they did to them! My wife hasn't stopped sobbing since
we met. She's dazed--I can't make her talk."

As he rambled on with his haphazard story, glad of fellow sympathy, I
spied a line of British Army Supply carts advancing up the road. The
leader came to a halt and getting down, the driver entered the first of
the abandoned dwellings before which we were standing. Presently he
reappeared.

"Just my luck! I say"--(and this addressed to our group with a sort of
blank, hopeless expression) "I don't suppose any of you Frenchies know
where I could get a cup of tea!"

I laughed outright, much to his astonishment.

"Not anywhere around here, unless you're willing to wait until I can
build fire enough to make you one!"

The man blushed crimson.

"Ah--I couldn't think--"

"No trouble. Get one of your men to make a blaze, and, boasting aside,
I'll brew you a cup such as you haven't had since you left England."

No sooner said than done, and quarter of an hour later, a half-dozen
Tommy Atkins were sipping hot Kardomah with sugar and condensed milk
from tin mugs.

"You're certainly right--the French don't know how to do it, at least in
these parts. I had a teapotful yesterday morning that was as near a
mixture of stewed herbs and Hunyadi water I ever hope to taste. And
now, isn't there something we can do for you?"

"Tell me where you're bound for?"

The man brought out a note-book and pointed to a name.

"La Ferte-sous-Jouarre?"

"Yes, that's it. I wouldn't dare tackle it."

"Is the road clear? Can we go there? It's only fifteen kilometers from
my home."

"I don't know if they'll let you by--but if you're clever and follow on
close behind us with your Red Cross armlet, there's just a
chance--that's all."

I didn't need a second bidding and after warning my people not to talk
if we met sentries but to have faith in me, we pushed ahead. Our army
friends with better horses soon left us in the rear, but undaunted we
proceeded, finally reaching the heights that overlooked La Ferte--and
led into the village, Jouarre, perched on the side of the hill running
towards the Marne.

Oh, the pitiful sights that met our gaze as we wended our way along
those glorious roads, now full of ruts and knee-deep in mud! As far as
eye could see the entire country had served as a huge camp for the
invader, and when forced to flee he had sacked and destroyed everything
within his reach. The wonderful fertile fields had been soiled,
polluted, and among other damning evidences of their fury, the smoking
ruins of every farm house stood like specters in the brilliant sunshine.

At the entrance to La Ferte our road was barred by two sentinels,
elderly peasants, by their looks. I played mum and tapped my Red Cross
armlet.

"_Non, on ne passe pas!_"

I beckoned them and fumbled among my papers for my _carte d'identite_.
They approached the cart, but as they did so, my faithful Betsy let
forth an angry growl.

"Down!" I commanded in English. "Down! I say! They're not going to
hurt me!"

Those phrases were my undoing!

"Oh, ho!" said my interlocutors. "And after that you think you're going
to get past us? We've had enough Boches in this place. You can come
in--but between us!"

And jumping up on either side of me, one of them took the reins and
started forward. This being taken for a spy was an altogether new and
very disagreeable sensation.

"But, gentlemen," I protested calmly, "I'm known in this place. If
there's an inhabitant left I'll be identified in a second. How green
you'll feel if you drag me before an officer and find you're mistaken!"

They were unrelenting.

I invoked my identity card.

No, they had heard me speak in a foreign tongue and all foreign tongues
to them were German!

And so we entered La Ferte.

Doors and windows no longer existed--the former had been dashed to
splinters by the butt ends of guns, while the latter were shattered to
powder and from their apertures swung bed clothing, personal adornment
and household belongings in shreds and tatters--all willfully soiled by
mud and filth.

It was useless to try to drive our cart up the main street, so calling a
passing comrade, my detainers bid him hold my horse until they returned
after having _fait leur affaire_, as they expressed it.

The plate glass windows of every store lay in thousands of pieces below
their sashes, and the entire stock of merchandise whether furniture or
drapery, groceries or dairy products, had been hurled through them into
the middle of the thoroughfare. Above these were piled pell-mell
bedding and chairs, wardrobes and wash basins, all splintered and
broken--the whole making the most pitiable conglomeration I ever hope to
witness. One plucky dealer was already boarding up the great yawning
cavities that were once show windows, and here and there a frightened
female face peeped out from behind the ruins of her commerce.

"Madame Huard!" cried a familiar voice behind me. "_Mon Dieu_--you!"

I turned and recognized my pastry baker's wife.

"_Oui, moi; arretee._"

"Arrested!"

"Yes, unless you will be good enough to inform these gentlemen who I
am?"

"_Est-il possible! Est-il possible!_ Why, of course, I know you--how
dare they!"

"You see," I said, turning to the _auxilaires_.

But they were inflexible, bidding my friend follow on if she could swear
to my identity. She obeyed, but our group had attracted the attention
of a couple of small boys who darted out of an alley way like rats from
a cellar, calling, "_L'espionne--l'espionne!_"

Thank fortune, at that instant we came upon an officer, whom I accosted
at a distance, explained my case and produced my card and my pastry
baker. He understood in a moment, and hastily discharged my custodians.

"I cannot scold them. They're over zealous, but we've been so horribly
betrayed all along. You understand, I'm sure. Please accept my
apologies, Madame!"

I bowed and he departed. Then I turned to my friend.

"You've heard the news, I suppose, Madame?"

"No--what?"

She suddenly grew white.

"Quick--out with it, woman!"

She hesitated.

"Is H.--?"

"_Non_, not that, Madame, but a quarter of an hour ago it was noised
about that the enemy are still retreating, and that we were pounding
into their headquarters--le chateau de Villiers."

I felt myself whitening. The woman saw it, and catching me by the arm.
"Come, come," she said. "You're tired; perhaps it isn't true, so many
false alarms have been launched. Come and have a cup of coffee--you'll
excuse our back room--it's all we have left."

I gladly followed her, picking my way through what had once been one of
the most enticing of provincial pastry shops, the good soul apologizing
all the time, as if she had been responsible for the damage. As she
prattled on, though my own brain was swimming I now and then grasped
such phrases as three days of looting, two days' bombardment. As she
passed me a cup of coffee, she explained that the invaders had not been
satisfied with violently appropriating all personal articles which they
had found to their liking, but after having drunk all the wine in the
cellars, they had willfully cut open the bags of flour and thrown it
pell-mell in every direction.

"And, Madame, they got into my reserve of eggs--five thousand of them--"
she wept, "five thousand! All my winter's store. I wouldn't have
minded if they had eaten them but to see them purposely crushed and
wasted. Two of those wretches spent half a day bringing them up from
the cellar in their helmets, and then dragging me out, would hurl them
at the walls and windows, savagely rejoicing in my distress!"

I couldn't remain indoors--I had but one thought--get to Villiers or see
someone who knew for certain what had happened there.

Again I crossed the shop, paddling through that sticky yellow slime in
which bits of furniture and clothing floated like croutons in a gigantic
nauseating omelet.

Outside, towards the end of the street that opened on to the quay, great
animation reigned. A bugle sounded and I could hear the tramp of
soldiers' feet.

"Look!" cried my friend. "Look, all that is left of the Institut St.
Joseph, the pride of La Ferte."

Across the river between the broken spans of the bridge, my eye fell
upon the gutted remains of what had once been a most exquisite bit of
eighteenth century architecture. The mansion which had sheltered Louis
XVI and Marie Antoinette on their eventful return from Varennes, was now
a smoking pile of ashes!

"And to think we had to do it! Oh, curse their hides!" muttered an
elderly man close to my elbow.

"We?"

"Yes."

"?"

"Why, when they had to get out of here they crossed the Marne, destroyed
the bridge and entrenched themselves in the houses along the bank. The
English caught them like rats in a cage, but at what a price! One
fellow that's rowed across says he can bear them moaning, but you bet
they can rot there before we'll go to 'em. Begging your pardon for the
language!"

A dozen men of the _genie_ were busy constructing a temporary arch
between two spans, and just as soon as a plank was laid a regiment from
Cherbourg (almost all reservists) filed over one by one. The population
gave them an ovation, and it was a curious sight to see these care-worn,
haggard-faced people simply going mad with joy, while around them was
heaped desolation.

"I hope you haven't come for your tea service, Madame?"

I turned and recognized my china dealer, who smiled cynically as he
motioned towards his shop.

"It doesn't pay to be a glass merchant these days. It only took two
shells to send twenty years' earnings into splinters! There's not a
whole goblet or plate in the entire establishment! But I wouldn't have
cared if they hadn't maltreated the women. I--"

"Come and see!" cried another. "Durant's house has tumbled down and his
wife and family are smothering in the cellar. Quick!"

There was a general rush in that direction, but I pushed on towards the
bridge. It was evident my carts could not cross, but there was just a
hope that they would let George and me through with our bicycles.

I accosted the sentry who stood mounting guard beside a motor which was
thrown up on the side of the road, twisted and distorted like a tin toy
one has walked on.

No, the bridge was for the army only.

I insisted.

An officer came to my rescue, but could only confirm the sentry's
orders.

"You're not safe even here. This is the firing line. We don't know yet
for certain whether we are going to hold the ground we gained. Villiers?
Still in the Germans' hands."

I sighed and was about to turn away. "Then where's the nearest bridge
across?"

"Meaux."

"But that's thirty kilometres west! I'm only fifteen from home here!"

"I wish I could help you, but there's no use trying to leave here unless
you go that way."

Then Meaux it must be, and though our trip was considerably lengthened,
anything was better than inaction.

VIII

It was with much reluctance that we turned our backs on La Ferte the
following morning and headed our horses westward.

Naturally the right of way was reserved for the army, and the roads
bordering the Marne were now lined with soldiers, guns, ambulances and
supply vans rushing to the front. After being side-tracked and halted
no less than two score times, we finally reached Trilport, where the
invaders had done but little material damage. The terrified civil
population was even exultant, for two nights previously an automobile
containing four German officers sped through the town, in the direction
of Paris, and ignorant of the fact that the English had destroyed the
bridge, had been precipitated into the river. The affair seemed to be
considered as a huge joke, and the chief amusement now consisted in
hanging over the broken side and contemplating the gruesome spectacle of
a half-submerged motor, and four human bodies lying inanimate on some
rocks, rapidly swelling, thanks to heat and the current.

"When we're sure they're good and dead, we'll bury 'em," explained a man
whom I questioned.

As I write this phrase, now that more than a year has elapsed, it seems
cruel and heartless, but on the spur of the moment, and after all that
each one had endured, it was but justice.

Though barges were being rapidly brought into position so as to form a
temporary bridge, I felt it would be a good two days before we could get
across, and so following the course of the river, we wended our way in
and out, round about, this time through peaceful country, until we
reached Meaux.

My heart leaped with joy when on approaching I saw the cathedral
standing unharmed, like a guardian above the peaceful little city.

The Germans had made but a brief stay here, merely an _entree_ and
_sortie_, and had been received by Bishop Marbeau, in such a fashion as
is likely to be recorded in history and place his name beside that of
his famous predecessor, Bossuet.

One or two stray shells had fallen into the place, but the harm done was
insignificant. The most picturesque and melancholy sight was along the
river front, where to head off the enemy's approach the French had been
obliged to blow up those ancient bridges, landmarks of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries, for, like the Ponte Vecchio at Florence, they were
lined with houses and mills, whose pointed roofs and apparent beams had
weathered nearly five hundred years! Strange as it may seem, it was
they that resisted the most, and, though the dynamite had severed their
connection with land and shattered their pale-blue window panes, not a
house had collapsed, and as they stood in the sun's dying blaze, they
seemed to say, "Touch me, if you dare!"

Washboats, rowboats, barges and every available means of navigation had
been sunk or put out of working order and though the enemy was hardly
ten miles distant, men and women were busily engaged in setting them
afloat.

Once again all we could do was to stand and gaze at the opposite bank
and after assuring ourselves that there was no possible way of crossing,
we hastily departed for Lagny.

That night we slept in a shed hospitably offered by a lone peasant
woman, and the next morning triumphantly crossed the river and set our
faces homeward.

Branching northward into the open country we chose all the by-roads and
short cuts where our carts would pass, in order to avoid the long
streams of ambulances and ammunition vans, as well as in the hope of
finding better thoroughfares. A drizzling rain had set in the night
before, making the roads, which up until now had been covered with a
thick layer of dust, slippery and uncomfortable. Highways which
heretofore had been seldom trodden, were full of ruts and bumps, and
from Langy to Villiers there was hardly a corner but what showed signs
of the invaders' passage. Over these green and fertile fields whose
crops had proudly waved their heads about the lovely Marne, were strewn
straw and empty bottles in unimaginable quantities. Thousands of
blackened or charred spots dotting the countryside, told of campfires
and hasty bivouacs, and as we silently plodded on towards Charny, the
growing evidences of recent battle met our saddened gaze.

Here a shell had burst on the road, in the midst of a bicycle squadron,
scattering men and machines to the four winds of Heaven. A little
mound, a rough-hewn cross, marked the spot where some sixty soldiers lay
in their last peaceful sleep, while the _melee_ of tangled wire and iron
which had once been machines, as well as blood-stained garments, bits of
shell, and even human flesh, made a gruesome and indescribable picture.

Souvenirs? The idea never entered my head. And my kodak, which I had
been so prompt to use to commemorate various events, seemed a vulgar,
inquisitive instrument, and was left unheeded in the bottom of the cart.
Each step brought us face to face with the horrors of warfare. Towards
Villeroy a number of battered Parisian taxicabs gave us the first hint
of General Gallieni's clever maneuver which helped save the capital--and
then the wind brought towards us a nauseating odor, which paralyzed our
appetites, and sent us doggedly onwards: the stench of the battlefield.

The girls in the cart drew closer together, shivering, though the air
was warm and muggy. Even old Cesar seemed to feel the awe of that
Valley of Shadow, and no one murmured as we passed the first bloated
carcasses of dead horses and came upon that far more horrid sight--human
bodies--swelled to twice their natural size, lying as death had met
them, some in piles, others farther apart--all unrecognizable, but once
proud mothers' petted darlings. I think they were our enemies. I did
not stop to investigate; the flies bothered us so terribly, and long low
mounds with red kepis piled upon them told of the graves of France's
defenders. Far ahead I could discover groups of men with shovels,
hastily burying those who remained. To the right a lazy column of dense
smoke rose reluctantly in the heavy air. I fancied it came from a
funeral pyre; we certainly smelled tar and petrol. The ground beneath
rocked with the thundering of the distant cannon, and as one peal burst
louder a flock of jet black crows mounted heavenward, mournfully cawing
in the semi-twilight.

So we continued, a silent, foot-sore, rain-soaked community. With the
growing remoteness of imminent danger came the reaction of all we had
passed through, and deep down in our hearts we welcomed the idea of
entering a village.

A village! Alas! As we reached the road leading to Barcy, there was a
rift in the clouds, and a long golden ray shot through an enormous
breach in the church tower, flickered a moment upon a group of roofless
houses, and was gone. Night closed in.

Our spirits sank. Yvonne began to moan with agony, her sciatica had
returned with the dampness, and Nini for some unknown reason, began
sobbing as though her heart would break. I could see the moment not far
distant when our whole party, seized with fear, would become
panic-stricken, and that idea, together with the one of camping in the
sodden fields surrounded by grim death, was anything but reassuring.

"Come on," I urged. "Surely Barcy is not entirely deserted."

What mud! What a road--sometimes entirely gutted, sometimes so
obstructed with gasoline cans, hubs of wheels and scraps of iron, that I
was obliged to lead Cesar by the bridle, while the others would walk
ahead and clear a passage. Their progress was snail-like, for there was
little oil left in our lantern and they hesitated before casting the
refuse into the ditch for fear of profaning some unknown hero's grave.

And so, stumbling and halting, we came into Barcy. As we passed in
front of the battered church we could see the huge bronze bell lying
amid a pile of beams, at the foot of the belfry. The _cadran_ of the
clock tower was midway between the ruins of the edifice itself and those
of what had once been the town hall. Not a living soul was to be seen
anywhere. Stay--yes--there in front of us was a masculine figure.

I called "Monsieur!"

He halted an instant. Then shook his head and skulked away.

Through an oiled paper that had replaced the panes of a shattered window
in a house which no longer had a second story I caught sight of a
flickering light. I boldly knocked on the door.

"_Qui est la?_--" asked a high-pitched, trembling female voice.

"I, Madame H. of Villiers."

"I don't know you--go your way."

"But we are refugees."

"I have nothing left. _Allez-vous-en!_"

That was categorical, to say the least. So on we went, past the charred
ruins of one-time happy homes.

As we rounded a corner our lantern cast a dim glow on to the drawn
shutters of a half-collapsed structure.

"Stop a moment," said Julie; "there's something written on those
blinds."

I approached, and holding the light as close as possible I read the
following sign, chalked in huge white letters:

"Attention. No Loitering. Looters will be shot on the spot!"

That was the last straw, and though it was obvious that the warning was
intended for the troops now miles away, it sent us ahead with uncanny
celerity.

Our advance was short-lived, however, for it soon became evident that
our horses were fagged out. Yet where to go became an agonizing
question, for though we were still within the limits of the village, not
a roof was to be seen. There seemed to be but one thing to do, and so,
halting, I fumbled in the bottom of the cart and brought forth a handful
of dry straw, and my precious bottle of brandy. Thanks to these, a match
and a sheltering wall, a flame managed to blaze up, and from somewhere
in the vicinity Julie procured a bundle of brush and an old broom.

With the heat our spirits rose. The girls dried themselves as best they
could before the welcome fire, and though still awed by our
surroundings, we nibbled a crust of dry bread and some stale cheese.

Then silently Nini and Yvonne crept back into the cart, covered
themselves with hay and a blanket, opened an umbrella above their beads,
and soon were fast asleep. The others begged me to share their bed
beneath the cart, but tormented by the thought of what had become of H.,
racked by the anxiety of what the future held in store, I could not
resign myself to rest, and the first gray streaks of that cool September
dawn found me seated on a stone, staring at the glowing embers of our
watch-fire.

Again the wind shifted in our direction, bringing with it that same
loathsome smell. I shivered and pulled myself together, and after
carefully scrutinizing my road-map, decided that there was just a chance
of reaching Villiers before night, but only if we started at once. This
living in suspense was beginning to tell on my nerves and anything, even
the assurance of dreaded misfortune, would have seemed a relief. After
the state in which we had found Barcy there was little doubt that our
part of the country had been treated the same way. Perhaps it was still
in the Germans' hands; we had no way of knowing to the contrary.

I roused the servants and told them of my intention, and in a few
moments a pot of coffee was boiling on the tripod. In spite of the
early hour I did not hesitate to add a little brandy in each cup, for
after twenty-four hours of continual rain a stimulant was not only
necessary but welcome. I tried to coax the dogs to take some, they
seemed so wet and miserable, but they spurned my offer, and stood
looking at me with most pitiful and mournful eyes.

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