My Home In The Field of Honor by Frances Wilson Huard
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Frances Wilson Huard >> My Home In The Field of Honor
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III
The next few days following my eventful trip to Soissons were spent
superintending the installation of my hospital. For convenience's sake
I decided to utilize the entire ground floor, first because there were
fewer and more spacious apartments, each one being large enough to hold
ten or twelve beds, thus forming a ward; second, because it would be
better to avoid carrying the wounded up a flight of stairs. The rooms
above could be used in case of emergency. All this of course
necessitated the moving of most of my furniture and _objets d'art_, as
well as the emptying of H.'s much encumbered studio--I having determined
to keep but a small apartment in the east wing for private use. It was
really a tremendous undertaking, far worse than any "spring cleaning" I
had ever experienced, especially as I was but poorly seconded by my
much-depleted domestic staff, already more than busy trying to keep the
farm going.
From the boys--George and Leon--I learned that old father Poupard had
not yet put in his appearance since his departure three days before with
his nag, and that mother Poupard had abandoned her belligerent attitude
and had resorted to tears. She could be seen three times a day, on her
return from the fields, standing by the bridge corner, wailing her
distress to any passerby who had time enough to stop and listen. Poupard
now possessed all the qualities of mankind and it was probably through
his noble soft-heartedness that some ill had befallen him. What a
misfortune, especially as the vines needed so much attention.
Sunday, the ninth, I was preparing to go to early service at Charly (our
own curate had been called to join his regiment) when on crossing the
bridge, a bicycle whisked by the victoria.
"He's coming--he's coming!" called the rider, as he passed us.
"Who?" I said, rising, as George drew up.
"Father Poupard!" called the boy. "I'm going to tell his wife!"
It was evident that the news had spread like wildfire, for looking up
the street, I could see the villagers hurrying from their cottages.
Already the hum of voices reached my ears, and anxious not to miss what
promised to be a most dramatic meeting, I told George to drive to one
side of the road and stop, and there we would await developments.
In less than a minute mother Poupard appeared. She was as good as her
word, for now that she knew her lord and master was no longer in danger,
she had cast sentiment to the winds and was actually brandishing that
"big stick!"
"Ah, the good-for-nothing old drunkard!" she vociferated as she ran.
"Just let me lay hands on him!"
Around the bend of the road came the excited peasants. They pressed so
closely about someone that until they were almost upon us I could not
distinguish who it might be. Then as mother Poupard pushed her way
through the crowd, it parted and displayed her husband; drunk, but with
pride; delirious, but with glory--proudly bearing his youngest grandson
in his arms, leading the other by the hand.
"Oh, Joseph--" gasped his astonished wife, every bit of anger gone from
her voice.
And then followed a very touching family scene in which the delinquent
was forgiven, and during which time one of the bystanders explained that
father Poupard had walked from Chateau-Thierry to Epernay, to fetch his
orphan grandchildren, and had returned on foot, carrying first one and
then the other accomplishing the hundred miles in not quite four days! A
heroic undertaking for a man over seventy!
The sun rose and set several times ere my interior arrangements were
completed and nothing extraordinary happened to break the monotony of my
new routine. On Tuesday, the eleventh, the strange buzzing of a motor
told us that an aeroplane was not far distant. Our chateau lies in the
valley between two hills, so to obtain a clear view of the horizon, I
hurried to the roof with a pair of field glasses.
Presently a tiny black speck appeared and as it grew within the scope of
my glass, it was easy to recognize the shape of a _Taube_. That was my
introduction to the enemy.
Without waiting a second I rushed to the telephone and asked central at
Charly (the telephones now belonged to the army) to pass on the message
that a German aeroplane had been sighted from the Chateau de Villiers,
and was flying due west, head on for Paris. The noise had grown louder
and louder, and when I returned to my post of observation, I found most
of the servants assembled, all craning their necks. On came the
_Taube_, and there we stood, gaping, never realizing an instant that we
were running the slightest risk. The machine passed directly over our
heads, not low enough, however, for us to distinguish its contents with
the naked eye.
"There's another!" shouted someone. And turning our backs on the enemy,
we gave our entire attention to a second speck that had suddenly risen
on the horizon.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon and the armored head of the
ever-on-coming aeroplane glittered splendidly in the golden rays of the
afternoon sun.
"_Cest un francais!_" cried George.
"_Non!_"
Allowing that an aeroplane flies at the rate of a mile a minute, one can
easily imagine that we had not long to wait before number two sped over
us. Through my glass I was able to recognize the tri-color cockade
painted underneath the plane, and when I announced this there went up a
wild shriek of joy.
At that moment a loud report in the west announced that the Germans had
begun their deadly work on undefended territory.
"That's a bomb for the railway crossing at Nanteuil, I'll bet!" said
Leon, and while I was realizing that that projectile might just as well
have been for us, the others were gesticulating and bowling
encouragement to their compatriot some few hundred yards above them, as
though he could bear every word they said:
"Go it, old man!"
"Bring down that cursed blackbird!" "_Vive la France!_" and other
similar ejaculations were drowned by the noise of the motor.
The chase was on! It was more exciting than any horserace I ever
witnessed. The Frenchman was rapidly gaining on the other, but would
they come into combat before they vanished from our horizon? That was
the question that filled us with anguish.
On, on they sped, growing smaller and smaller every second. Presently
it became impossible to distinguish them apart, but we knew that they
had come within range of each other, for the two specks rose and fell by
turns now soaring high, now dipping precipitately, seeming almost to
touch at times. Then, just as they were about to disappear, one of them
suddenly collapsed and fell. Which one, we never knew.
Towards dusk the _garde-champtre_ appeared and left orders that George
and Leon must take their turns at mounting guard. Four hours right out
of the sleep of a peasant boy especially when he is overworked, is
likely to leave him useless the next day. It provoked me a little, but
then it was duty and they must obey. The boys came on at eleven and
having decided it would be better to get in an hour or so of rest
beforehand, they retired to the hay loft. I promised to look in on them
in case they should fail to waken, and at the appointed time I put on my
sweater and went down to find, as I had expected, both youths slumbering
peacefully, blissfully unconscious of the time. Poor little chaps, it
seemed a pity to wake them, but what was to be done? Presently an idea
of replacing them myself dawned upon me: a second later it so enchanted
me that I wouldn't have had them wake for anything. The whole thing was
beginning to be terribly romantic.
Slipping quietly away, I went to my room and got my revolver, and then
going to the south front of the chateau, I softly whistled for my dogs.
Three big greyhounds, a shepherd dog and a setter responded immediately,
and just as I was about to shut the little yellow door, old Betsy, my
favorite Boston bull, came panting around the corner of the house. With
these five as bodyguard I sauntered up the road in the brilliant
moonlight, arriving in front of the town hall just as the clock was
striking eleven. I must say that my appearance and announcement rather
shocked two elderly men who had been on the watch since seven o'clock.
Monsieur Demarcq protested that such a thing as a woman mounting guard
had never been beard of, but I swiftly argued him out of that idea. What
was required of me? That I stop every passer-by and every vehicle?
Didn't he think me capable of doing so? And I pointed to my dogs and my
revolver. The weight of the argument was so evidently on my side that
they had nothing to do but to submit, and laughingly Mr. Foeter put me
in possession of a heavy old gun, three packages of cartridges, and the
lantern. Then once again they asked if I couldn't be dissuaded, to
which I jokingly replied that I would set my dogs after them and drive
them home if they didn't make haste to go there at once. That admonition
proved more efficacious than I had dared hope, and assured me that my
faithful beasts rejoiced in a ferocious reputation.
All sorts of fantastic ideas flitted through my brain as I took
possession of my post. I began, however, by setting the lantern in the
middle of the road, exactly in the center of the chain, as a warning to
any on-comer. Then by the moonlight, I proceeded to examine my gun. It
was a very primitive arm, and after carefully weighing it in my hands, I
decided to abandon all thought of stalking up and down the road with
such an implement on my shoulder. That kind of glory was not worth the
morrow's ache, so I deposited the antiquated weapon in the hallway of
the school house and resolved to rely on my Browning.
Afterwards I came out and seating myself on the bench with my back
against the wall, waited for something to happen. My dogs seemed to
have comprehended the gravity of my mission, and crouched close to my
feet, cocking their ears at the slightest sound.
Little by little the great harvest moon climbed high behind our old
Roman church, perched on the embankment opposite, bathing everything in
molten silver, and causing the tall pine-trees in the little cemetery
adjacent to cast long black shadows on the road. Down towards the
Marne, the frogs were croaking merrily somewhere in the distance a night
locust buzzed, and alarmed by the striking of midnight the owls who
nested in the belfry, fluttered out into the night and settling on the
church top, began their plaintive hooting. Still no one passed.
Such calm reigned that it was almost impossible to believe that over
there, beyond those distant hills, battle and slaughter were probably
raging.
Presently a shiver warned me that I had been seated long enough; so,
marking a hundred steps, I began to pace slowly up and down, watching
the ever-changing firmament. The first gray streaks of dawn were
beginning to lighten the east when a growl from Tiger made me face about
very abruptly. I must admit that my heart began beating abnormally, and
the hand in my pocket gripped my revolver as though it were a live
animal and likely to escape.
A second later all the dogs repeated the growl, and then I could hear
the clicking of a pair of sabots on the road. The noise approached, and
my guardians looked towards me, every muscle in their bodies straining,
waiting for the single word, "_Apporte!_"
"_Couchez!_" I hissed, and awaited developments.
The footsteps drew nearer and nearer, and in a moment the stooping
figure of an old peasant came over the brow of the hill. The gait was
too familiar to be mistaken. But what on earth was father Poupard doing
on the highroad at that hour?
When he was within speaking distance I came out from the shadow of the
wall and put the question. If he had suddenly been confronted with a
spook I do not think the old man could have been more astonished. He
stopped dead still, as though not knowing whether to turn about and run,
or to advance and take the consequences. Realizing his embarrassment, I
hastily proffered a few words of greeting, and then he chose the latter
prerogative.
"-Vous?_" he said, when at length he found his tongue. "_Vous?_"
"Yes--why not?"
"Who's with you?"
"Nobody. Why?"
He seemed more embarrassed than ever. Evidently he hadn't yet "caught
on."
"What can I do for you?" I continued.
He still hesitated, looking first at me and then at a bottle he carried
in his hand. Finally he resolved to make a clean breast of it.
"Why," he said, "I didn't expect to find a woman here, least of all _une
chatelaine_. It rather startled me! You see, I've got into the habit
of coming round towards dawn. The boys begin to get chilly about that
time, and are glad enough to have a go at my fruit brandy. They say I'm
too old to mount guard, so I must serve my country as best I can. Will
you have some--my own brew?"
I declined, but he was not offended; yet he seemed reluctant to go.
"Sit down," I said. "It won't belong before some of the men will be
passing by on their way to the fields, and then you won't have made your
journey for nothing."
Pere Potipard gladly accepted, and after a generous swig at his brandy,
began telling me about what happened at Villiers during the German
invasion in 1870. As he talked on, night gradually disappeared, and when
the clock in the belfry tolled three A. M. my successors came to relieve
me. I blew out the lantern and walked home in broad daylight.
The boys looked very sheepish when they learned what had happened, but
as I did not boast of my exploit, merely taking it as a matter of
course, they had no way of approaching the subject, and like many other
things of the kind, it was soon forgotten in the pursuing of our
onerous daily tasks, and the moral anxiety we were experiencing.
There seemed to be no end to the fruit season that summer. The lengthy
table in the servants' hall was literally covered with glasses
containing jam and jelly of every description, awaiting their paper
lids. Nini said there were over five hundred--to me it seemed
thousands, and I was heartily glad of a lull before the hospital should
open. And I remember distinctly that the last thing I prepared was some
thirty quarts of black currant brandy; that is to say, I had poured the
raw alcohol on to the fruit and set the jars aside to await completion
six months later! Shortly afterwards I received word by a roundabout
route from Soissons that I might expect my trained nurses and supplies
at any moment. In the meantime I was without word from H. since that
eventful meeting a week before.
Saturday, the fifteenth of August, was as little like a religious fete
day as one can imagine. At an early hour the winnowing machine rumbled
up the road to the square beside the chateau. Under the circumstances
each one must take his turn at getting in his wheat and oats, and there
was no choice of day or hour. Besides, the village had already been
called on to furnish grain and fodder for the army, and the harvest must
be measured and declared at once. This only half concerned me, for my
hay was already in the lofts before the war began, and two elderly men
who had applied for work as bunchers, had been engaged for the last week
in August.
After service at Charly, I walked across to the post office. The post
mistress and telegraph operator, a delightful provincial maiden lady,
always welcomes me most cordially, and at present I fancied she might
have some news that had not yet reached Villiers. (Mind you, since the
second of August we had had but two newspapers, and those obtained with
what difficulty!) The _bureau_ now belonged to the army, and for a
fortnight Mademoiselle Maupoix and her two young girl assistants had
hardly had time to sleep, so busy were they transmitting ciphered
dispatches, passing on orders, etc. It was to this physical exhaustion
that I attributed the swollen countenance of my little friend when she
opened the door to her private sitting-room. It was evident she had
something to tell, but her exquisite breeding forbade that she go
headlong into her subject, before having graciously inquired for my
health, my husband and news of us both since last we met.
"And the war, Mademoiselle, do you know anything about what has
happened?"
Two great tears swelled to Mademoiselle's eyes, which, however, bore a
triumphant expression.
"Madame--the French flag is flying over Mulhouse--but it cost fifteen
thousand lives! That is official news. I cannot give you further
details nor say how I obtained what I have told you."
Then the armies had met and war was now a bloody reality!
I shuddered. Here was news of a victory and all we could do was weep!
Once again the sons of France had generously shed their blood to
reconquer their righteous belongings!
I left Mademoiselle and rode home in silence. Should I tell the
villagers? Why not? But how?
The question answered itself, for as we approached the town hall I saw
the school master and a number of elderly men seated on the bench beside
the chain. When we pulled up to give Cesar breathing spell, they all
came clustering around the carriage. Did I know anything? Had I heard
anything?
"Gentlemen," I said, with a decided huskiness in my throat, "the French
flag flies over, Mulhouse, but fifteen thousand men are _hors de
combat!_"
Joy, followed almost instantaneously by an expression of sorrow,
literally transfigured all their faces. Tears sprang to the eyes of
several, falling silently down their furrowed cheeks, and without
uttering a word, as one man they all uncovered! The respect for the
glorious dead immediately abolished any desire for boisterous triumph.
There was no necessity to add any comment, so I continued my route to
the chateau.
One night towards the end of the following week, I was awakened by the
banging of doors and the shattering of window panes. A violent storm
had suddenly blown up and the wind was working havoc with unfastened
blinds and shutters. There was no use thinking of holding a candle or a
lamp. Besides, the lightning flashed so brightly that I was able to
grope my way through the long line of empty rooms, tighten the
fastenings, and shut the windows. I had reached the second story
without mishap and without hearing the slightest footstep within doors.
All my little servants were so exhausted that even the thunder had not
roused them. Presently, however, the sound of the gate bell broke on my
ears.
"Pooh," thought I. "Some tree or branch has fallen on the wire. Catch
me getting wet going out to see what it is."
The ringing continued, but more violently. And at regular intervals. I
went down to the middle window and stuck my head out. At the same
moment, my dogs made one wild rush towards the gate and a woman's voice
called, "_Madame Huard, ouvrez, s'il vous plait!_"
By the light of another flash, I could distinguish a dripping figure in
white. "Bah! someone is ill or dying and wants me to telephone for a
doctor!"
So I pulled the bell communicating with the servants' quarters, threw on
a few warmer clothes, and went below. At the foot of the stairs I came
upon George and Leon much disheveled, but wide awake.
"There is someone in distress at the gate," I hurriedly explained. "Call
off the dogs and go and see who it is. I'll light up in the refectory
and wait for you there."
They obeyed, and in the course of three or four minutes returned,
bringing with them a much-bedraggled but smiling woman on whose coat was
pinned the Red Cross medal.
"I'm the trained nurse. Madame Macherez sent me here to help with your
hospital."
"Oh! I'm sure you're welcome, Madame--"
"Guix is my name. I received my orders to join you here three days ago,
and communications are so bad that I've come most of the way on foot. I
humbly apologize for arriving at such an hour and in such a state."
I hurried Madame Guix off to her apartment, told the boys to wake Julie
and have her send us a cup of tea and some refreshments in my little
drawing-room. Though it was the middle of August, the rain and dampness
were so penetrating that I did not hesitate to touch a match to a
brushwood fire that is always prepared in my grate. In a short time my
guest reappeared and as she refreshed herself, I busily plied her with
questions concerning the events of the last two weeks.
Madame Guix, a woman but little over thirty, came from Choisy-le-Roi
(the city of famous Rouget de l'Isle). _Merciere_ by trade, on the
death of husband and baby she had adopted the career of _infirmiere_,
and at the outbreak of the war found herself in possession of her
diploma and ready to serve. She had enlisted at the big military
hospital her native town had installed in the school house, and for
three long weeks had sat and waited for something to do.
"Are there no wounded there?"
"Not when I left."
"Have you ever yet had occasion to nurse a soldier?"
"Yes, of course. Four days after the declaration when the Forty-ninth
Territorials came through Choisy on their forced march to the front, we
were suddenly filled up with cases of congestion. You see, that
regiment is Composed of men mostly over forty, and what with the heat,
their guns and their sacs, and unaccustomed to such a life, many of them
couldn't stand the strain. My first patient was a sad little man named
Bouteron.
"Bouteron? What Bouteron?"
"Marcel Bouteron."
"No!"
"Why?"
"Is he dead?"
"No."
I breathed again. Thank God! Bouteron, Bouteron, our Jolly little
Bouteron, gaiety itself, who three weeks ago was the very life and soul
of our last house party! Was it possible? Already "down and out!" And
to think that this strange woman should bring me the news. I drew my
chair nearer to Madame Guix and for two long hours we talked, as only
women can.
From Choisy she had sought to exercise her _metier_ to better advantage
by approaching the front, so had addressed herself to Madame Macherez in
Soissons. From there she had been sent to me. Did she think there was
any possibility of nursing wounded in our hospital? We were so far
south.
She was confident that we would not be empty long. Bloody battles were
being waged from Alsace throughout the entire north. Belgian territory
had been violated and Liege was putting up a heroic defense.
But our doctor and the pharmaceutical products? From where and when
would they arrive? Food and bedding would go a long way, but were
hardly sufficient to start a hospital!
We were to count on Madame Macherez for both. She had promised to do
her utmost to reach us with our supplies, but the rules of circulation
on the roads were so severe that even Red Cross supply cars had to stand
in line and await permits. In the meantime we must organize as best we
could.
The following morning a few moments' intercourse proved to me that
Madame Guix's competence extended far beyond the bounds of her _metier_.
She was a splendid worker, and no task was too difficult, so long as it
furthered our purpose--namely, that of being ready in case of
emergency.
By noon we had decided that it would be useless to count upon my
servants to help in the hospital. They already had all they could do.
So I went and asked our mayor if he knew of any women who, _de bonne
volonte_, would come and assist us. Madame Guix volunteered to teach
them the rudiments of bandaging between two and five on the coming
afternoons, and we would establish a _roulement_ so that the little time
that each disposed of might be properly and efficiently utilized.
The drum beat and made the announcement, and at two the same afternoon
we had the satisfaction of welcoming some twenty women. In the meantime
every bit of old linen I possessed was brought down and put on the
dining room table, then measured and torn in _formes rilglementaires_
ready to be sterilized and put aside. Half a dozen bands were left out
as models and it was with these that Madame Guix commenced her
demonstrations. She soon put her listeners at ease, and presently all
were anxious to try a hand at bandaging. The naive clumsiness of these
poor souls was extremely pathetic, but such was their patriotism that
they never considered themselves ridiculous for a single instant, and
stood there fumbling the long linen rolls with bands that were hands
more accustomed to wielding a spade or directing a plough. Again and
again they would recommence certain difficult proceedings, taking turns
at playing the dummy, and offering as models calves and biceps of which
many an athlete might have been proud.
Of the score of women but two or three really acquired any facility, but
we considered that sufficient, for in time of need the others could
easily be put to work at necessary matters which were of less vital
importance.
From the windows of the dining-room where the _cours_ was held, we could
look down the driveway and see all the children of the neighborhood
standing on the wall of the moat, craning their necks in the hope of
catching a glimpse of what was going on in the chateau. It was
evidently an interesting diversion, for every afternoon they reappeared,
in spite of George's threats to send for the _gendarmes_. The little
demons seemed to know that the gendarmes were too busy to give them any
attention, and I assure you, they profited by their liberty. Little John
Poupard and his five-year-old brother were the leaders of the band, and
I trembled lest some day their curiosity lead to a tragic end!
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