My Home In The Field of Honor by Frances Wilson Huard

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Our noonday repast was composed of cold bam and fried potatoes. I think
I never ate better, though I must confess that the latter were stolen
from a neighboring field. By two o'clock a dozen weary inhabitants of
Villiers were stretched out on their rugs and peacefully dreaming! We
had decided to rest before determining what to do for the night.

I was awakened by a stiff feeling in my neck, and opened my eyes to find
that the sun was rapidly disappearing in the west. I had slept soundly
four hours and was much refreshed, though the bumps in the ground had
bruised me, and I could hardly move my head.

Yvonne had stood the journey so far very well though unable as yet to
walk, but as the cool of the evening came on I began to worry lest a
night out of doors set her screaming with pain. So as I laced my boots,
I decided to go back to Rebais and make another desperate attempt to
lodge her at least.

"Did Madame see Maitre Baudoin this morning," asked Leon, to whom I
imparted my plans.

I gasped! What a fool I was! My mind was so upset that I had forgotten
that my own notary was a prominent personality in Rebais.

A quarter of an hour later I turned into the public square and beheld
Maitre Baudoin and his wife standing on the doorstep watching the exodus
of numerous refugees.

"Madame Huard!" they exclaimed. "You? What on earth has happened?"

I explained in a few words.

"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!"

I looked at Madame Guix.

"Go, Madame Huard, you must. You owe it to the others. None of you
need me and I can be of service here, so if the sisters will keep me
I'll stay."

Reluctantly I shook hands with my nurse, and hastened down the steps.
Maitre Baudoin and his wife took leave of me at the comer, and I elbowed
my way between the horses of a cavalry regiment, whose riders were sound
asleep on the hard cobble pavement beside them.

On the further side of the square noisy rolling sounds told me that the
artillery was crossing the city, and mounting a doorstep, I beheld
battery after battery of the famous Seventy-fives clattering out of
sight over the road we had come by in the morning. When I got down, I
found my way blocked by the 18th Chasseurs a cheval, who, four abreast
and lance in hand, were setting out for battle. They were anything but
a beaten army--most of them were softly humming some popular song, while
others were calmly filling their pipes and still others catching forty
winks in their saddles. One or two I noticed wore no caps, and their
heads were bound in blood-stained bandages.

There seemed to be no end to them and I was beginning to get anxious
about our departure. Plunging my hand into my coat pocket I touched a
piece of stale bread and a bit of chocolate, forgotten since the day
before, and hunger having seized me, I began gnawing my crust.

"Say, sister, give us a bite," called one young chap from his horse as
he passed.

"Are you really hungry?"

"You bet!"

Without hesitating I offered my crust.

"Hurray for the girl with the red scarf!" called another. "Come on with
us. We'll make room for you." "We need a mascot," and other similar
jolly phrases passed from mouth to mouth as gaily the flower of young
France went forth to death.

When finally they had disappeared I rushed across the street to find
George and Emile (H.'s messenger) engaged in a conversation with the
driver of an army supply wagon drawn up within an inch of the bakery
steps. Beside him on the seat sat a huge dragoon, his bead done up in a
blood-stained towel.

"We're lost," he was explaining. "Been cut off from our regiment for
three days."

"Poor regiment!" I murmured, and calling the boys, I told Emile to wake
the others and come down quickly to help hitch the horses. He was only
gone a second, and I could hear him calling.

"_Allons, allons, Madame part de suite._"

Then he reappeared carrying a lantern.

"Where the devil did you get the light?" growled George.

"In their room."

"Then how in the name of heaven do you expect those people to dress and
roll up their belongings in the dark?" I scolded. "Here, George, go
back with the lantern."

George obeyed orders, and Emile, rather sheepishly, skulked away in the
direction of the stable yard. I heard a sliding door pushed open,
followed by a long low whistle, and a second later Emile reappeared, his
eyes popping out of his head with astonishment.

"There's a horse missing--been stolen!"

"No! Impossible!"

"The stable's empty!"

I hurried to the spot, and found that he told the truth.

"George!" I called, as my boy came around the corner of the house.
"George, Cesar's been stolen!"

"Who says so, Madame?"

"Emile--the stable's empty."

Calmly and easily George walked over towards Emile, and taking him by
the collar, shook him violently. "Look here, you! What do you mean by
frightening Madame like that? Are you her servant? No! Well, then,
mind your own business!"

And opening a second door alongside the other, we found Cesar and
Sausage munching their oats.

It was no easy job harnessing in the dark and backing the heavy carts
out of the narrow yard into the still narrower street. But in ten
minutes our caravan was again en route.

We crossed the public square, now almost empty of men, horses and
motors, and took the only road leading south.

The first gray streaks of daylight lighted the east as we turned the
corner, and we were obliged to pull suddenly to the extreme right, for a
heavy Parisian motorbus swung round the bend and rushed on past us.

Straining my eyes, I perceived that there was not one but hundreds of
them, following each other at top speed down the hill. There were armed
men standing inside them, armed men on the platforms and steps, armed
men even on the roofs and it was indeed a strange sight to see
_Madeleine-Bastille_ and the _Galeries Lafayette_ out here in the open
country, jammed full of grim infantrymen preparing for the fray.

Suddenly a tremendous explosion rent the air and shook the ground so
that the horses stopped and trembled.

"There goes the bridge at Nogent!" cried George. "No--the power house
at La Tretoire!"

"_En avant!_" I called, knowing that the signal for battle had now been
given.

VI

We had gone about two miles when the sight of my greyhounds tied behind
the farm cart made me think of my little Boston bull.

"Where's Betsy?" I asked of those perched on the hay.

Julie, Nini and Yvonne grew white.

It took little time to discover that no one had seen her that morning.
It was evident she had been forgotten--left to die tied to the brass
rail inside an abandoned bakery, for it was there I had fastened her on
arriving the night before. Pedaling ahead till I reached Leon who led
the procession--

"Keep straight on this road. If it should fork, take the direction of
the La Ferte Gauche. I'll be back in no time." Then turning about, I
started a parallel race with an autobus, much to the delight of the
occupants.

Useless to say that my adversary gained on the up-grade, turned the
corner, was gone, and was followed by another long before I reached the
public square, breathless and full of anxiety.

Rebais was empty--not even a tardy refugee straggled by the wayside, and
before I reached the bakery I could hear the plaintive howls of my
little brute.

What a joyful welcome I received. What hilarious waggings of that
little screw tail! But, there was no time to be lost, for the problem
now was how Betsy was to catch up with the procession. She was too
heavy for me to carry under my arm, and too old and puffy to be expected
to follow a bicycle--but it was one or the other, and tying her leash to
the handle bar, off we started, after an encouraging pat on the head and
the promise of a lump of sugar if she would only "be a good girl."

On we sped, past the huge lumbering motorbuses, which terrified the poor
animal who tugged vehemently at her string, at times almost choking
herself.

In half an hour we had caught up with the caravan, and as I lifted poor
exhausted Betsy on to the hay, Nini roused from her dozing and pointing
to the east, said, "Oh, look! what a big fire!"

"You silly child, it's the sun rising; go back to sleep," I said,
terrified by what I had seen, but unwilling to alarm the others
uselessly.

At the skyline of an immense plain that stretched on our left, huge
columns of flame burst heavenward, covered a moment later by dense black
smoke. Fortunately, however, the sun peeped over the horizon almost
instantly, thereby diminishing the intensity of the conflagration. But
Nini was not to be thus hoodwinked.

"See," she continued, "what funny little fluffy clouds those are!"

"Nini, if you don't go to sleep at once you'll have to get down and
walk, and let one of the boys take your place. They'll be only too glad
to, I know."

Nini obeyed instantly. She had come away with but one pair of shoes (in
spite of my admonition to take all the footwear she possessed) and that
pair of shoes pinched.

Funny little fluffy clouds indeed! The shaking of the earth beneath my
feet and a second of reflection told me, they were not clouds, before
they would be directed westward was but shells--and how long it would be
a question that chilled the blood in my veins.

The town we were heading for--La Ferte Gauche--lay southeast. Though I
had no glass, it was evident that it was now under the enemies' fire,
and we might just as well run our necks into a noose as keep on in that
direction. It was southwest--or nothing.

Without offering any explanation I rode ahead and told Leon to follow
me. Then turning abruptly to the right, I took the first side path that
was wide enough for our cart wheels, and in and out, up and down, we
followed it for over an hour, until coasting down a steep incline, I
found myself in the midst of a delightful little village, nestled
between two hills on the border of a river.

The shops were just opening and people were going about their work as if
nothing unusual were happening. They gazed in astonishment at this
hatless bicyclist, who wore a Red Cross armlet, and when I went into the
baker shop, I was filled with joy at the sight of all the crisp loaves
lined up in their racks ready for delivery.

Refugees?

They hadn't seen any. Someone had heard an unaccustomed movement of
wagons during the night, that was all.

A signpost, as I turned into the square, told me that I was at
Jouy-sur-Morin, and a few moments later, I came upon a group of
gentlemen in frock coats standing talking on an embankment below the
church. If it had been in the afternoon instead of five A. M., I should
have thought this assembly perfectly in harmony with the landscape. In
fact they looked so much like H.'s caricatures of his provincial
compatriots that I couldn't help smiling as I passed. This mutational
gathering of the municipal council was the only outward sign of anxiety
to be found in this picturesque township.

The arrival of our caravan produced quite a sensation among the early
risers at Jouy, thought the enthusiasm for telling their story had
somewhat subsided among my servants. They were footsore, sleepy, and
hungry.

The gentlemen in frock coats were too busy in their own affairs to give
us much attention, and I was about to leave when one of them called me
over and asked a few questions. Anxious to be off, I answered briefly.
The man probably took me for a poor demented female; how could he think
otherwise down here in his little valley, where not a sound of gun and
shell had penetrated as yet?

History will tell you how, a few hours later, Jouy-sur-Morin was the
scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the Marne.

At the dairy, my appearance aroused much curiosity, and when I brought
out the money to pay for my milk, the woman held up her hand. "No,
never; I couldn't take pay from such forlorn creatures as you!"

This unexpected pity brought the blood to my cheeks. I was hot with
indignation. Until now we had wanted for nothing, and with gold in my
pocket charity was an insult. I straightened my tie, looked at my dusty
boots, and realized for the first time that my face was drawn with
fatigue and anxiety--that my hair, though tidy, was sadly out of curl.
Leaving my change on the table, I turned on my heel and departed.
Explanations were tiresome and useless.

We crossed a railroad track and then the river--the Grand Morin--and in
a grass-grown granite quarry halted for breakfast, sheltering ourselves
from the blistering sun in the shade of the immense rocks.

The boys took the horses down to the river to drink and bathe, and a few
seconds later came back for towels and soap.

What a happy idea! A quarter of a mile higher up the bank I found a
well secluded spot, and plunged into the refreshing current. It was the
first time I had had my boots off since leaving Villiers. Thanks to a
small pocket glass and a fresh white blouse, I made myself quite
presentable and as I approached our camp, the appetizing odor of fresh
fried country sausage tickled my nostrils and made me glad to be alive.

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