My Home In The Field of Honor by Frances Wilson Huard

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Of course they were welcome, and the same hospitalty that had greeted
the refugees from Hanzinell was offered to those from Thuilly-the whole
village was there!--mayor, curate, smith and baker, all accompanied by
different members of their immediate families, driven from home by the
cruel invaders. Terrified by the horrors they had witnessed, exhausted
by their perilous journey, they were disinclined to talk; and as for
myself, I was so busy, preoccupied and thoroughly spent, that curiosity
was forgotten. Here were people in need of what comforts I could offer.
I gave and asked no questions.

What was most evident at present was the fact that rations were shorter
among this party than among those who had stopped in the morning, and
certainly not for the lack of funds. All of them had money--gold
a-plenty.

They had found less to buy--_voila tout_. They were glad to accept the
vegetable soup, rabbit stew and cooked fruit that we had prepared but
insisted on paying for their portions, which of course I refused, much
to their dismay, and I am certain the servants were well repaid for
their trouble.

And what were their plans? To go as far south as possible. Perhaps
they would eventually cross to Morocco or Canada. Why not? The whole
village was there--all the men had their trades. They would colonize,
for it was useless to think of going "home." They no longer possessed
one, and who could tell--the war might last a year or more?

At that assertion I protested. A year? Never! Why, the finances of
the country couldn't stand it, and I went on to state how, when in
England during the Agadir crisis three years previous, I had heard
competent authorities state that three months was the very limit for the
duration of hostilities! That somewhat cheered them--especially as I
announced the Russian advance, and on the map we noted the rapid
progress of the famous "steam roller," which, if it continued as it had
begun, would certainly reach Berlin by Christmas! (I offer these
statements without comment.)

Before they retired Madame Guix asked if there were any who felt the
slightest ill, for it were better to nip sickness in the bud, and she
cheerfully lanced festers and pricked blisters, bathed, powdered and
bandaged the feet of some dozen old and decrepit men and young children
unaccustomed to such forced marching and unable to take proper care of
themselves for want of time and hot water! At that moment I felt she
was heroic and I must say I admired her patience and endurance, for the
sights witnessed were anything but agreeable. Poor souls! And they
hoped to reach Marseilles on foot.

The Kaiser and his entire army might have ridden over us rough shod and
we would have felt nothing, so soundly did we sleep for the first couple
of hours after we touched our beds. By two A. M. (September first),
however, there was much moving about in the barns and stables, and my
dogs, who were restless, began scratching at my door to be released.
Anxious that no one leave without a cup of hot coffee, Madame Guix and I
repaired to the kitchen as dawn broke, and an hour later we bade
farewell to our "lodgers for a night." I bethought me of my kodak, and
as the sun peeped through the clouds I caught a snapshot of my departing
guests as they turned the corner of the chateau.

They joined in behind the stream of other carts which we were now
accustomed to seeing. In fact, this general exodus no longer astonished
us. It seemed as if the panic had spread over the whole of Flanders
like a drop of oil on a sheet of paper. To us, who consider ourselves
as living in the suburbs of Paris, Belgium is so far away!

I wound off my film and was returning towards the house, when two very
distinguished looking girls stepped off their bicycles and asked for
directions. I gave them with pleasure and in turn ventured a few
questions.

They were from St. Quentin! That startled me. They had been _en route_
two days. They had not seen the Germans, but the town had been
officially evacuated. A man on a bicycle had sped by them the day
before and announced the bombardment and destruction of their native
city! Hard fighting at La Fere.

St. Quentin! Then the Germans were on our soil! The Belgians were
right--they were evidently advancing rapidly. But why worry? We were
safe as long as we had the French army between us and them.

Thought as yet the day was but a couple of hours old, I was weary. This
business of hotel-keeping on so large it scale with so little
assistance was beginning to tell on my strength. I opened the gate and
told George and Leon to welcome any who wished to come in, and then
repairing to the kitchen, I sat down and began helping the others
prepare vegetables. The discovery that in spite of all their good will
guests had necessarily left many traces of their passage, brought me to
my feet again, and we were all hard at work when a haggard female face
looked in at the kitchen window.

"Is there a doctor here?"

"No,--but--"

The woman burst into tears. Madame Guix and I hurried out into the
court. "My baby--I can't seem to warm her," moaned the poor mother.
"She hasn't eaten anything since yesterday."

And stretching out her arms, the woman showed us an infant that she had
been carrying in her apron. It was dead.

I had difficulty in overcoming my emotion, but Madame Guix took the poor
little corpse into her arms, and I helped the mother to an arm chair in
the refectory.

A cup of strong coffee brought back a little color to her wan cheeks and
she told us she was from Charleville. The Taubes had got in their
sinister work to good advantage among the civil population but they were
merely the forerunners of another and heavier bombardment. The
townspeople had fled in their night clothes.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes--I'm not a native of Charleville. My husband and I have only been
married a year. He left the second of August and the baby was born the
tenth. She's only three weeks old."

No wonder the mother looked haggard--one hundred and fifty miles on
foot, with a newborn infant in her arms, fleeing for her life before the
barbarous hordes!

I pressed another cup of coffee with a drop of brandy in it upon her.
She looked appealingly at both of us and then drank.

"Was your husband good to you?" asked Madame Guix.

"Ah, yes, Madame."

"Do you love him well enough to endure another sacrifice like a true
wife and mother that you are?"

"Yes."

And then we told her that her baby bad gone--gone to a brighter Country
where war is unknown. She looked at us in amazement, and burying her
head on her arm, sobbed silently but submissively.

"Come, come, you must sleep--and when you are rested we will help you to
find room in a cart which will take you towards your parents."

She cast a long, loving look at her first born, and let herself be led
away.

All we could do was to make an official declaration of the death at the
town hall. A small linen sheet served as shroud, a clean, flower-lined
soap box formed that baby's coffin, and Greorge and I were the grave
diggers and chief mourners, who laid the tiny body at rest in the little
vine-grown churchyard. War willed it thus.

When I got back from the cemetery I found another load of refugees
installed in the courtyard. This time they proved to be a hotel keeper
and her servants from the Ardennes. They, however, had foreseen that
flight was imminent and had carefully packed a greater part of their
household belongings and valuables onto several wagons, taking care that
all were well balanced and properly loaded so as to carry the maximum
weight without tiring the horses. They needed less attention than the
others had required, for when I explained that the house was theirs,
they went about their work swiftly and silently, getting in no one's way
and attending to every want of their mistress, who sat in her coupe and
gave orders.

Later on they were joined by the occupants of numerous other equipages,
all from the same district--but with whom I had but little intercourse.
From one poor woman, however, I learned that her two daughters, aged
sixteen and seventeen, had been lost from the party for two days. They
were in the cart with the curate who had stopped to water his horse,
thus losing his place in line. When they had reached the spot where the
road forked, which direction had he taken? What had become of them? She
pinned her name and route on the refectory wall, begging me to give it
to them if they ever inquired for her. To my knowledge they never
passed.

At luncheon Madame Guix announced that Yvonne was better. Far from
well, but better. That was a load off my mind.

The mother of the poor little infant we had buried was peacefully
slumbering on a cot in the hospital, and presently Leon came in to say
that old Cesar had put his hoof on the ground for the first time in four
days. Bravo! I felt much relieved.

And still the carts rolled down the valley, their noise echoing between
the hills. To-day there was no respite: right on through the heat of
noon they rumbled past, thicker and faster it seemed to me.

"Bother them!" I thought. "They make so much noise that we couldn't
hear the cannon if it were only a mile distant." And hoping that
perhaps I might seek some assurance from that sound, I was about to set
off for the highest spot in the park to listen. At the door, however, I
was accosted by one of the two men who, for several days had been
bundling my hay in the stable lofts. He pleaded illness. Would I pay
him and let him go? He would come back to-morrow and finish if he felt
better.

As there was nothing unusual in his request, I settled his account and
told him to go and rest. I now know that he was a German spy, and have
recently learned that a fortnight later he was caught and shot at
Villers-Cotterets.

I wonder what possessed me to make that long weary climb. Evidently I
found out what I wanted to know, but the news was anything but
reassuring. I heard the cannon distinctly: so distinctly that I was a
trifle unnerved. Not only had my ears caught the long ever-steady
rolling (already observed three days since) but I had been able to make
out a difference in the caliber of each piece that fired, and added to
it all was a funny clattering sound, as when one drags a wooden stick
along an iron barred fence. _La Fere_ is putting up a heroic defense, I
thought, blissfully unconscious of the fact that it is utterly
impossible to hear a cannon at that distance--at half, no, even a
quarter of that distance. Judge then for yourselves what was its
proximity to Villiers!

For two days now the course in nursing had been abandoned, not for lack
of enthusiasm but because each housewife had more than she could attend
to at home. The chateau was not the only place where refugees halted,
and all the villagers had done their best to make the travelers
comfortable. From where I stood overlooking the two valleys, I could
see the interminable line of carts on all roads within scope of my view,
and in every farm yard as well as on the side of the main thoroughfares,
vehicles were drawn up and thin columns of blue smoke rising heavenward,
told that the evening meal was under way.

The population of my own courtyard had quadrupled by five o'clock.
People from St. Quentin, Ternier, Chauny--each with a tale of horror and
sorrow--sought refuge for the night. Madame Guix was permanently
established in the dispensary, and a line was formed as in front of the
city clinics, each one waiting his turn, hoping that she might be able
to relieve his suffering. At dusk a cart turned into the drive and a
gray-haired man asked if we had a litter on which to carry his son to
the house.

"What was the matter?" I inquired.

"A cough--such a bad cough."

I went with him towards the wagon, and there beheld the sad spectacle of
a youth in the last stages of tuberculosis. Thin beyond description, a
living skeleton, the poor boy turned his great glassy eyes towards me in
supplication. I drew the father aside. It was best to be frank. I
shook my head and said it would be useless to move his son. We had no
doctor, and his illness was beyond our competence. Cover him well, and
try to reach a big city as soon as possible.

As I turned away, a sturdy youth tapped me gently on the arm, begging
shelter for his great-grandmother, a woman ninety-three years old, whom
he had carried on his back all the way from St. Quentin. A cot in the
entrance hall was all prudence permitted me to offer, and it was
charming to see how tenderly the young fellow bore the poor little
withered woman to her resting-place. She was so dazed that I fear she
hardly realized what was happening, but tears of gratitude streamed down
her cheeks when her boy appeared with a bowl of hot soup, coaxing her to
drink, like a child, and finally curling up on the rug beside her bed.

Five times that evening the great refectory table was surrounded by
hungry men and women; five times I ladled out soup and vegetables to
forty persons, and five times we all helped to wash up. So when all was
finally cleaned away, and Madame Guix and I fell exhausted onto two
kitchen chairs, it was well onto eleven P. M.

My clever nurse informed me that she had arranged for the departure in a
cart of the mother whose baby we had buried, and I in turn told her of
my climb in the park and the approach of the cannon. It was evident
that the Germans were bearing down on us, and swiftly. When we looked
at the map and saw the names of the cities, towns and villages whose
populations had succeeded each other down the road, it was clear that
the French must be beating a forced retreat, or (and this was unlikely)
panic had spread so quickly that the whole north of France was now
moving south on a fool's errand. We cast this second hypothesis aside.
We had heard too many tales of woe and seen too much misery to believe
anything of the sort. Well, and then what? Our case was simple--either
the Germans would be stopped before they reached us, or the French army
would put in an appearance, in which latter case it would be time enough
to leave, unless we were officially evacuated before! Having adopted
this simple line of conduct, we retired, quite satisfied and not in the
least uneasy.

In the cool gray dawn of Wednesday morning, September second, when I
opened my shutters and looked out into the little square that faces the
chateau, I was amazed to see that the refugees who had halted there were
in carts and wagons whose signs were most familiar. They came from
Soissons!

"Hello," thought I, "I'll go and see what they have to say! Things must
be getting very bad if a big city like Soissons suddenly takes to its
heels." (Soissons is but little over twenty miles from Villiers.) As I
came down stairs I heard the drum roll, and George, who just then
appeared with the milk, announced that the requisition of horses which
should have taken place at Chateau-Thierry that morning, was
indefinitely postponed. That was hardly reassuring, especially as it
was the first official news we had received in a long time.

So busy were we helping those who had slept at the chateau to depart,
that I had no time to put my first intentions into execution, and when
finally I had a moment, I looked out of the window and saw that my
friends from Soissons had vanished. They, too: well, well, well!

I was not astonished; in fact I gave the matter but little heed. We had
taken our resolutions the night before and had no time to stop every
five minutes and question as to whether we were right or wrong. At
noon, however, when an old peasant woman called me through the kitchen
window and announced that all Charly was leaving post haste, I must
admit that I winced, but only for a second. If I had listened to all
the different rumors that had been noised abroad within the last week I
would have been a fit subject for a lunatic asylum by then!

Resolved, however, to get at the core of the matter, I sent George to
Charly (our market town, four miles away) to see what he could find out.
He returned on his bicycle at luncheon time, bearing the following
astonishing information.

The hotel keeper and his wife, alarmed by the arrival of the Soissonais,
had taken their auto and started for that city in quest of news.
They had returned an hour later, having been unable to pass
Oulchy-le-Chateau, fifteen miles from Charly, where all the bridges were
cut or blown up! They were making their preparations for departure.

"And," continued George, in an excited tone, "as I came past the
_Gendarmerie_ the _brigadier_ called to me and said good-bye. All the
_gendarmes_ had received orders to leave at once for their depot at--."
(The name of some town the other side of the Marne, which I cannot
remember.)

Instead of frightening me this information stimulated my nerves, which
were beginning to be depressed by much work and little news.

"Good," I said. "Now then, we can expect the soldiers at any minute.
Poke up the fire, Julie, and we'll fall to work to have hot soup ready
when our boys arrive."

Then we were really going to be in the excitement. How glorious to be
able to help--for in my mind ours was the only solution possible to the
question.

I set to work with renewed vigor and, as on the day before, we were
constantly in demand by refugees requiring treatment and attention. How
well I remember a group of four, two men and two women, who staggered
into the court and timidly knocked at the window. Three of them were
glad to accept soup and wine, but the fourth, a middle-aged woman, sank
down on the steps and buried her head in her hands.

"Why doesn't one of you men relieve her of that heavy parcel she has
strapped to her shoulders?" I asked.

"She won't let us touch it. She's never put it aside a minute since we
left home six days ago!"

"Is it as precious as all that?" I queried, eyeing the huge flat package
which might have been the size of the double sheet of some daily paper.

"It's her son's picture. He's gone to the army and she's alone in the
world."

"But why on earth is she carrying frame, glass, and all? It must be
nearly killing her in this heat!"

"Madame," said the woman's friend solemnly, "she worked six months and
put all her savings into that frame! Do you wonder she did not wish to
leave it behind!"

I opened a side door and showed them a foot path across the hills, a
short cut which carriages could not take, and was just turning the key
in the lock when the telephone rang.

That was the first time since the second of August! What could it mean?
Probably the arrival of wounded. I literally flew to answer the call.

I had some little difficulty recognizing Mademoiselle Mauxpoix' voice:
it was trembling with emotion. She greeted me politely and then begging
me not to be too alarmed, she announced that she had just received
official orders to put all her telephones and telegraphic apparatus out
of working order--to damage them so that repairs would be impossible.

"I have ten minutes more left," she continued. "A government motor is
coming at four o'clock to take me, my employees and my books to Tours."

"But, Mademoiselle--"

She did not heed my interruption. "You cannot stay, Madame Huard! You
must not! No woman is safe on their path. I know this better than you,
for I have been receiving official reports for more than a month! The
worst is true! For the love of heaven, go--you've still got a chance
though there's hard fighting going on in the streets of Chateau Thierry!
For God's sake, don't hesitate. Adieu."

She was gone! And I stood there dazed!

"Hard fighting at Chateau-Thierry! That's only seven miles from here,"
I counted.

Go? Go where? How? Go and abandon my post, with Yvonne still too ill
to move, and all the others depending on my help? Go? By what means,
when my only horse was too lame to cross the courtyard! It was far
better to stay and defend one's belongings!

And then as I slowly returned through the corridors, it occurred to me
that in spite of my desire to stay I might be forced out. Suppose the
chateau should suddenly become the target for the German guns? Well, we
could all take to the cellars, as the others had done in 1870. But--and
here was the point--suppose the French took possession and gave us women
but a few minutes to leave before the battle began. Then what! Here
was food for reflection. I resolved to take Madame Guix and the two
boys into my confidence. Four heads were better than one!

They received the news calmly, and I almost caught a glimpse of a
twinkle in George's and Leon's eyes. The excitement pleased them.

If what Mademoiselle Mauxpoix had said was true, the Germans were now on
their way to Villiers. It was evident that the French were putting up a
stubborn resistance, but there was little hope of their stopping them
before they reached our vicinity. Battle meant destruction of lives and
property. Well, since we still possessed the former, it was high time
to think of saving the latter. The sun was fast sinking behind the pine
trees. In an hour it would be dark. What I decided to do must be done
at once.

"George and Leon, bring down my two big trunks, and tell Nini to hitch
the donkey to his flat cart and drive to the side door." I had resolved
to save what I could of H.'s work, and going to the studio closet, I
began selecting the portfolios containing mounted drawings and etchings.
It was useless to think of the paintings. They were too big. The
trunks were full in no time. I had no other receptacles, so reluctantly
closed the but half empty cupboards, consoling myself with the thought
that all this was possibly useless preparation, and praying Heaven that
I had made a good choice among the portfolios in case the worst came.

The boys put the trunks onto the cart and set off in the direction of a
sand quarry, where I knew we could dig in safety, and easily cause a
miniature landslide, which would cover all traces of our hidden
treasure. I promised to join them in an hour--the time I judged it
would take them to make so large an excavation, and returning to my
room, gathered my jewels and papers into a little valise, and put them
beside my fur coat and my kodak. A few other trinkets and innumerable
photographs were locked away in my desk, and perceiving that it would be
utterly impossible to carry them with me, I wondered how on earth I
might protect them. Suddenly I bethought me of a tiny silk American
flag that my mother had given me years before, when as a child I left
home for my first trip to Europe. I found it where I hoped, and
shutting one edge of it into the drawer, I let the stripes hang downward
and pinned the following inscription into its folds:

"I swear that the contents of this desk are purely personal and can be
of value to no one but myself. I therefore leave it under the
protection of my country's flag."

I felt very proud when I had done this and then hurried into my
dressing-room where I hastily filled my suit-case with a few warm
underclothes, a change of costume, and an extra pair of shoes. I had
about finished and was heartily glad that this useless job was over,
when on glancing out of the window I caught sight of fuzzy-haired Madame
La Miche driving up the avenue in her dog cart.

Madame La Miche and her husband run a big stock farm near Neuilly St.
Front, some fifteen miles from Villiers. I had often seen her at
poultry and agricultural shows, where their farm products usually
carried off any number of prizes. It was she who sold me my cows hardly
a year since.

"You?" I said, as she drew up to the steps.

"Yes. En route--like all the others. Our entire fortune is in live
stock and I'm going to try to save as much as I can. May we come in?"

Certainly--and a half-hour later one of the largest farms in France had
been moved bodily into my pasture land! The whole thing was conducted
in a very orderly manner by M. La Miche, who on horseback drew up the
rear of this immense cavalcade composed of some two hundred white oxen,
hitched two abreast, seventy or eighty horses, as many mares with young
colts, and heaven knows how many cows and calves; all accompanied by the
stable bands. Poor tired beasts, how greedily they drank the cool water
of our spring, and how willingly the cunning little colts, whose tender
hoofs had been worn to the quick by their unheard-of journey, allowed
the men to tie up their feet in coarse linen bandages with strips of old
carpet for protection.

Madame La Miche had been officially evacuated at noon, so I did not
hesitate to tell her what I had heard. She was not surprised, and said
she intended leaving at midnight, but her animals, unaccustomed to such
exercise, must have a few hours' rest.

In the kitchen I found George and Leon, who had accomplished their task
sooner than I expected. Relying on their word that it was impossible to
tell where they had buried the trunks, I did not go back to the sand
quarry. Half a mile was a distance to be considered, under the
circumstances.

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