4 September, 1914.
THE booming of cannon is still very near.
Scarcely anyone is left in the neighborhood. The butcher has gone. Fortunately, the baker is staying, and as long as the flour holds out we shall have bread.
If this state of isolation lasts long, it is proposed to kill and divide up the pet horse to feed those who are still here. Poor beast! I hope we shall not come to that pass. I feel a sort of gratitude to him.
The few people still remaining in Quincy and Voisins seem to makeone big family. We live almost in common. The town-crier, Marin, with the help of Pron, the road-maker, kill and distribute an ox that was left behind by a refugee. Mirat, the carpenter, goes a long distance now and again to get provisions of some kind, and so renders us a very great service. Everyone is doing something to help everyone else,—holding his neighbor by the hand, as it were.
But we must try to find some sort of shelter, in case, owing to our position, we should be exposed to a bombardment.
Near by are deep spacious wine-cellars, which with their massive arches look like vast cloisters. We prepare provisions and carry themto these cellars, so that we can take refuge there if need be.
One of my aunts said she knew a very safe place where we could go if for any reason we were obliged to leave both the house and the cellar. It is one of the most isolated nooks in the plaster quarries, and is in the form of a trench. It would be impossible to find us there.
But we shall have to give up that "very safe place." My aunt came in a little while ago much excited. She has discovered that her hiding-place is inhabited! And by whom? By the Boches themselves! She saw their heads emerging from this kind of trench. They had carefully covered their shining helmets with grass. There were ten or more ofthem, and several cavalrymen farther on.
photographRoute nationalfrom Couilly to the Demi-Lune, a hard, straight hill, over a mile and a quarter long
Route nationalfrom Couilly to the Demi-Lune, a hard, straight hill, over a mile and a quarter long
Perhaps it would be prudent to bury some of our things. I ask one of our old friends to help me dig a hole in the garden. We have planned to dig it this evening.
Meanwhile, I go to the hospital at Quincy, reaching there just as Sister Jules and Sister Marie are getting ready to go to Pont-aux-Dames. Sister Jules has arranged all her dressings and surgical instruments with the most painstaking care.[1]
The road is almost deserted, except for an occasional refugee who goes by on foot. The English are digging trenches at Demi-Lune in Mareuil Street, near the State road. Trenches are being made also beyond the Quincy plaster quarry, near the road to Mont and at Ségy.
There is an encampment in the plain in front of the park of the château. It is meal time. With very evident pleasure the men are eating raw tomatoes. They are also taking great satisfaction in some jam that looks most appetizing. The jam comes in large cans decorated with pictures of the fruit of which it is made.
Every little while the earth trembles under our feet. We now hear cannon booming all around us.
This morning I saw a man who has just been to Meaux. He tells me that as he was going along the Magny road, in a place called Pageotte, a German automobile stopped in front of the demolished bridge. An officer got out and angrily inquired of several bystanders if it was long since the bridge had been destroyed.
"Yes, yesterday," they answered.
"Then," said he, "what happened to the patrol that was ordered to go this way this morning?"
"The men swam over, together with their horses."
Not being able to cross over himselfthe officer ordered his chauffeur to turn back. He was escorted by two soldiers carrying rifles.
This evening there is very little bread in the neighborhood. I meet a tall young Englishman looking for bread for himself and his comrades. I think there is some at home, so I tell him to follow me. When we reach the door, he refuses to come in and I have to hand him the bread through the window. We have very little left. Will the baker make more to-morrow? He carries off the bread, but is especially happy at being given some raw tomatoes. Always tomatoes! There is nothing you can give them that pleases them so much. But you have to hand them out through the window. Oneof the men who speaks very good French tells us they are under strict orders not to go inside a house on any pretext whatsoever. And they obey implicitly.
Another man comes and asks us for a crucifix. He manages to explain to me that he is engaged to be married, that perhaps to-morrow he will be killed, and he wants to send a souvenir to his young lady. We are glad to give him one. Before he goes, he wraps up his parcel, and in return offers to forward a letter to my brother by one of their messengers.
At nightfall a platoon of English come down from Huiry to search the Aulnois woods. Germans have been seen there.
Part of the men are detailed to beat the woods while the rest with astonishing agility and suppleness lie down on the ground and crawl away to hide, either lying flat or kneeling on the edge or inside of the ditch by the road. (This road is the continuation of Huiry Street towards the Aulnois woods, and is called Cat Lane.) If the Germans are driven out of the woods they will be obliged to go along this road.
Our old friend kept his promise to come to the house, and we immediately set about preparing the hiding-place for our treasures. While he was digging in the garden I heard very distinctly in the garden next door, on the other side of the wall, a dull thud that sounded likesomeone falling, then the same noise a second time. Certainly two men had jumped over the wall into the garden. Our friend heard it too, and motioned to me to know if he was to continue. Keeping my eye on the wall, I nodded to him to go on.
Hearing nothing more, I was tempted to go to the door in the garden wall that opens on the little woods to see if the English were continuing their search, so as to tell them to go into the garden next door. I don't know why I did not carry out this plan, unless because I was too much absorbed in putting the finishing touches to our hiding-place. It was lucky for me, possibly, for I might have found myself face to face with the Boches. The noiseswe heard were very likely made by two Germans jumping over the wall to escape being caught. While the English were watching for them in the road, they reached the garden from the rear, then Pavé-des-Roizes, and from there slipped away in single file in the direction of Demi-Lune. (I learned this detail from a woman who saw them.)
FOOTNOTE:[1]After rendering various services during the Battle of the Marne, the annex at Pont-aux-Dames had to be closed. No official order came permitting us to receive wounded there. This order did not come until January, 1915, and then solely for Quincy, which has been in operation since that date as Auxiliary Hospital Number 112, under the intelligent and devoted direction of Madame René Benoist, President of the cantonal committee of the "Union of the Women of France."
[1]After rendering various services during the Battle of the Marne, the annex at Pont-aux-Dames had to be closed. No official order came permitting us to receive wounded there. This order did not come until January, 1915, and then solely for Quincy, which has been in operation since that date as Auxiliary Hospital Number 112, under the intelligent and devoted direction of Madame René Benoist, President of the cantonal committee of the "Union of the Women of France."
[1]After rendering various services during the Battle of the Marne, the annex at Pont-aux-Dames had to be closed. No official order came permitting us to receive wounded there. This order did not come until January, 1915, and then solely for Quincy, which has been in operation since that date as Auxiliary Hospital Number 112, under the intelligent and devoted direction of Madame René Benoist, President of the cantonal committee of the "Union of the Women of France."
5 September, 1914.
THERE is no one left in the streets. The place is deserted. The English left this morning at three o'clock. Cannon are raging.
While we were at lunch a woman stopped before our window a moment in her flight and said to us, "From your window you must be able to see the firing of the cannon. The light can be seen from here." In fact, from the upper story we can distinguish plainly a veritable whirlwind of artillery. It is on the plain of Monthyon that the firing is the most sustained. Mingled with the roar of cannon and the rattle ofmachine guns we can hear men shouting and trumpets sounding the charge. They tell us it is our brave Zouaves and our Moroccan sharp-shooters who are down there in the valley, while the enemy artillery is on the hills. With the naked eye we can see very plainly brown specks advancing in columns.
Shells are bursting three miles from us as the crow flies. Black and white tufts mount and spread about in the air. Under these tufts fires spring up, and farmhouses, woods, and mills burst into flames.
The fire and noise are hellish!
We have in front of us the magnificent panorama formed by the heights of Monthyon and Penchard, Chauconin, Neufmontiers; in thebackground, Chambry and Barcy. All these little wooded hill-tops stand out like lace-work against the clear sky. In the lowlands, on the right of the valley, is Meaux, with its cathedral towering over it; below, in the foreground, winds the Marne; between us and the river are the great trees of the Aulnois woods and our own garden.
Can it be possible that in this marvellous setting, in this peaceful countryside and radiant sunshine, men are killing each other? Each of the combatants claims God on his side. And yet, did not His messenger on earth say: "Love one another"? What have the sons of men done with Christ's doctrines of love—charity—peace?
As long as time endures, in order that ideals may live, must the earth be drenched with blood and tears?
What harvest will be garnered from all this mowing down of tender youth, cut off here before our eyes?
Oh, the crushing guilt that weighs on the instigators of such a war, and the terrible responsibility that is on their heads!
Civilization seems nothing but an empty word, that no longer has the slightest meaning. We are not, alas, ripe for universal peace. And yet, how happy nations could be if these mountains of gold that are being melted up for their destruction could be used for their well-being! Shall we ever attain to the ideal of peace?Perhaps, but before that time what suffering will be ours!
For the present, we must drive out the invaders, thrust back this cursed and ambitious people which has long been preparing for war, and reduce it to impotence. Our brave soldiers are setting at the task body and soul.
All political parties have put aside their differences and, for the sake of the common cause, are walking hand in hand.
May victory keep and strengthen this spirit! It would be the first step on the road to happiness.
While the battle rages before us, our prayers go out to the heroes who are suffering and dying so near at hand. Each cannon-shot, as we thinkof the bloody trail it ploughs in its path, is like a stab in the heart.
And my thoughts are with the wounded as they try to crawl out of reach of bullets, huddling in a furrow, crouching behind a bush. Some of them with their little remaining strength write on the back of an old envelope their last farewells.
The vision of my brother rises before me. He is bleeding, near unto death. He calls for help. Every movement that he makes wrings from him a groan. By a superhuman effort, goaded on by the thought of his children and his longing to see them again, he succeeds in dragging himself to the banks of the Marne, in the hope of finding help. To assuage his fever he tries to dip hishand in the cool water. But his arm refuses to obey. His hand is rigid. No one to aid him. Shattered, weak, he lies there waiting—waiting for the help that never comes.
photographThe road leading away from the Château de Condé across the bridge over the Grand Morin, looking away from the château
The road leading away from the Château de Condé across the bridge over the Grand Morin, looking away from the château
I am in despair. Surely there are wounded men in agony on the banks of the Marne.
If anyone would go with me, perhaps we could organize some sort of relief work. But how are we to get to the other side of the river? All the fishing boats, even the wash boat, have been sunk by the English. Can we do nothing but stand waiting here—useless—helpless?
My brother's little girls are playing peacefully at our side. Like them, we are calm. Not for a moment are we afraid. Without sayinga word to each other, we seem to think the same thoughts, and we remain at our post until evening, with full confidence. But our emotion is very great.
To what merciful providence do we owe our certainty that the enemy will not reach us, and the tranquillity with which we await the end of this tragedy? I confess that I do not understand.
One by one the stars break through the veil of darkness that comes down gently upon us. Now myriads of stars are shining in the heavens.
It is eleven o'clock. Houses are in flames, and forests. Here and there in the distance camp-fires are burning and trench-rockets burst in showers, making the valley seem likea great fiery furnace, an ocean of flame.
How insignificant are our own troubles in the presence of these heaped up ruins, this destruction of men and things!
On the highest tree of the Aulnois woods I have just seen a little light, square in shape, which alternately appears and disappears.
6 September, 1914.
MY first thought this morning was to find out what the light was that I saw last night. I recognized the tree from which it came, and discovered that several branches had been cut to make it easier to climb. At the very top an opening has been made where the light was evidently placed. The leaves just above are scorched. Underneath, a big branch, fastened across between two other branches, forms a platform. To whom can I report this discovery? There are no soldiers left in the neighborhood.
The booming of cannon kept upall night long, though it was not so loud as during the day. Before sunrise it began again in full force.
The same sights as yesterday.
The noise of the cannonade, though still very violent, seems to be shifting and going farther away. Can it be that our soldiers, after a hundred years, are going to repeat nearly in the same spot the strategy of Napoleon, who saved Paris by cutting off Blücher's army—that terrible Blücher, who likewise made his name a by-word by his vandalism? We have before us his worthy descendants—Von Kluck and Von Bülow. Nor will they break through. I feel more and more sure of it.
On our left are the army of Maunouryand the Moroccan troops; immediately behind us, the English Army under General French, and the French under General Franchet d'Espérey.
To-day I saw some Uhlans! They are beginning to venture out of their hiding-places, knowing that they can do so with perfect security. I met them on the road at noon. They had just been to Couilly to get their horses shod. Their uniforms look very much like those of the English, but are more greenish in tone.
They went along at a jog-trot, with their lances under their left arm, point downward. They passed by a few yards from me, intent on examining the château. Two or three of them glanced at me indifferently.
This patrol disappeared over the hill to the right of Quincy. Others (or else the same ones) were seen during the day at Huiry, where, with their staff maps spread out before them, they inquired the name of the commune where they were, and also asked for water for their horses.
This evening a patrol of the 3d Hussars is looking for them.
Several nights ago, Delautre, the store-keeper at Demi-Lune was awakened by a loud knocking at his door and on his shutters. The visitor got no answer, so he went away to the other houses in the place. Delautre, who cautiously opened the blind a crack, heard someone say: "They have all cleared out. They must have got cold feet. We shall see to-morrow."
Very early the next morning two men appeared at Delautre's house and said to him: "You were at home last night. Why didn't you answer? If we had felt like it we could have come in without knocking. We know your house. You have a back door that's easy enough to open." With that they pushed by him and walked in.
One of them went on with a sneer: "Ha, so you're scared of the Boches, are you? Well, I'll give you a chance to see a few." He went out, put up his hand as if to give a signal in the direction of the château, and Delautre saw several horsemen emerge from behind the wall of the park. They came galloping up to Delautre, making their horses pranceabout on the grass for his special delectation. They laughed heartily at his dismay.
The two civilians demanded drinks for everybody, and after exchanging a few words in German with the one who seemed to be the leader, they started down the Couilly hill, waving and nodding to the cavalry men; the latter, after watching them a minute, and waving back, galloped off towards Moulin-à-Vent, keeping along the park wall.
Delautre is terrified by this visit. One of these men is not a stranger to him. When he is questioned, he is unwilling to give other details than the ones above, saying that people would be too amazed if he let it be known who this man was.He has been entreated to tell, but he always refuses.
"Don't talk to me about that patrol," Delautre[2]would say every time anyone mentioned it. "I cannot believe what I saw with my own eyes. I think of it constantly. After the war I will speak, and either that man or I will have to leave this place."
Were there several patrols?
I think so, for Monsieur Damoiseau, a citizen of Voisins, had the same adventure as my aunt, this time near the oak woods, above the Mareuil quarries. He also went there in the hope of finding a hiding-place for his family.
On the plateau (over opposite theone where my aunt went) he saw five German soldiers observing the plain of Iles, and several others watching the road to Quincy. The hill where they were stationed overlooks Voisins and Quincy on one side, and on the other the plain which a few days later was to witness the Battle of the Marne. Not knowing whether to go forward or back, Monsieur Damoiseau stood stock still. The Boche who was in command asked in perfectly good French what he was doing there.
photographWounded soldiers at the hospital of Quincy. The author, with her friend Miss Mildred Aldrich by her side, stands in the back row
Wounded soldiers at the hospital of Quincy. The author, with her friend Miss Mildred Aldrich by her side, stands in the back row
"Officer," he replied, "they tell me the Germans are coming, so I am trying to find a place where my family and I can hide."
"Are you sure you aren't on a spying expedition for the English?"
"I didn't know there were any English about here."
"Well, there are. I know it whether you do or not. But where do you live?"
"In Voisins, the little village you see yonder in the valley."
"Yes, I know the place. Well, be off, and don't let me catch you around here again, or I'll shoot you."
The poor soul didn't need much urging, but took to his heels and ran home as fast as his old legs could carry him, telling his wife and daughter not to stir out of the house.
Every morning people discover that rabbits or chickens are missing. Several garden-gates have been forced open, and palings torn away.The German patrols go out at night to water their horses and get food. They have been seen several nights crossing the ford at Voisins.
This evening the battle lasted until nine o'clock.
FOOTNOTE:[2]Delautre died suddenly eighteen months later.
[2]Delautre died suddenly eighteen months later.
[2]Delautre died suddenly eighteen months later.
7 September, 1914.
ABOUT seven o'clock this morning English scouts arrived belonging to General Snow's division. For two whole days we had been alone, almost forsaken, it seemed to us. It's joy to see those khaki uniforms once more.
They are as correct and as gentlemanly as ever, our friends the English. A young officer is kind enough to give us news, and good news, too. The Germans are beginning to fall back. Already a pontoon-bridge has been thrown across the Marne at Meaux. After trying to cross sixteen times, and sixteen times seeing theirefforts of no avail, the Germans gave up the attempt to cross the river. The French General Staff has already arrived there, and Galliéni's army is advancing from Paris.
All this good news fills us with joy.
From now on we shall see no more Germans.
Troops are beginning to arrive. A regiment of infantry went through Voisins this afternoon. These men have come on foot from Paris. What a fearful march! They still have several miles to go before reaching a cantonment. Some of them drag themselves along painfully, their faces streaming with perspiration, their legs tottering under their weight, staggering like drunken men. Others, with a showof cheerfulness, hum marching songs to keep up their courage, but what a monotonous sound it is!
They are hot and thirsty, poor boys! They need something to drink. We go out with a pitcher of fruit syrup and water. They are not allowed to stop, so we follow on beside them and fill their cups which they take out hastily as soon as they catch sight of us. It seems to please them and renew their courage.
My little nieces are with us. The eldest, aged three, is holding up fruit which she takes from "Gamma's ba'ket." One of the men, as if to find new strength in the touch of her fresh childish cheeks, asks if he may kiss her, saying with tears in his eyes: "I have a little girl of my own athome about her age, with light hair like hers." Several of the men kiss her as they march along, and it makes them happy.
Poor things! Will they ever see again those little ones of whom our children remind them?
At the same moment, in a far-off home, the mother presses close to her breast her youngest born, who is asleep. The child stirs slightly. A gentle breath moves her fair curls. Do not waken, little one. Thy father kisses thee.
The mother's face is growing worn. The sister is silent. The bride-to-be is on her knees. They all have but one thought—the Absent One!
How many among those men who are marching by will see their own again?
Alas! Many of these women, these mothers, these sisters, will all their lives remain fixed in the same attitude—waiting. By force of habit, through the long years, each of them will keep her ear strained for the footsteps on the road, her eye fastened on the door, hoping against hope to see her loved one enter there.
The State road is full of troops, marching in close formation. The ranks extend from the foot of Couilly hill as far as the eye can reach, in the direction of Meaux, along the streets of Voisins and Quincy. The 8th Division of the 4th Army Corps, the115th, 117th, and 124th regulars, the 148th, 246th, etc., cavalry goes towards Charny.
A captain asks me to show him the road to Saint-Fiacre. While I give him the information he wants, I walk along a moment beside his horse. This movement of troops interests me.
Before leaving me, he expresses his surprise that I should be here all alone, and asks if I am not afraid.
"No," I answered, "I am not afraid. Perhaps I shall be, later. Do you think, Captain, that there is still danger? The Germans are falling back, aren't they?"
"Yes, but who can tell? Tomorrow you might see very ugly things. They are not far away yet."
"They evacuated Penchard yesterday, didn't they?"
"Yes, and they left behind them unspeakably foul traces of their Kultur."
"But, Captain, seeing all these troops here reassures me. We were two whole days without setting eyes on a soldier. That was the time to be afraid. All the troops you are bringing up will drive them back still further. And besides, Captain, if danger threatened, wouldn't these troops insure the escape of the civilians who are left?"
"If it were in their power, certainly."
"But, Captain, let me say again, I have faith in your soldiers."
"You are quite right," he said, ashe shook hands with me and wished me good luck.
photographVoisins-Quincy. Rue de Condé
Voisins-Quincy. Rue de Condé
"For my part, Captain, I am sure good luck will go with you."
The 117th stopped at Voisins. The soldiers are billeted everywhere, but preferably in the few houses that are still inhabited.
This regiment, which made the retreat from Belgium, has just come on foot from Asnières where it had been sent to recuperate. Several of the men with bleeding and blistered feet stop me in the street to ask if I can give them socks. Unfortunately, I have none. All I can offer them is women's stockings, linen bandages, and talcum powder.
For several days Boche aviators have been reconnoitring above us.One of them was only a hundred or two feet up, directly over the heights of Huiry. We thought he was going to land. He looked like an immense bat.
This evening another one came. The soldiers were just building their fires to cook dinner, when the command was passed along: "Stand close to the walls." The street, which a minute before was swarming with people is, to all appearances, empty and deserted, nothing but a single row of men on either side, standing close to the houses.
A platoon in a back street fires several times with machine guns. We watch anxiously.
"It's hit," someone shouts.
Sure enough, the 'plane gives alurch and is certainly going to fall.
It is out of control.
But this was nothing but a trick. Once out of reach, it righted itself and shot straight forward in the direction of Coulommiers, where they say the Crown Prince and his staff are stationed.
It was a great disappointment.
The soldiers go on building their fires, making little square ovens of bricks. Rations have not arrived yet. Some of the men, worn out, stretch out on the ground to wait. It is getting dark.
The sight of these haggard men, gray with dust, blowing on fires which cast fitful gleams on their wan faces, calls up visions of Dante.
And still rations do not come. The men are too tired to wait, and lie down to sleep supperless in any sheltered spot they can find.
The few who are not completely exhausted make a descent on the houses that are inhabited. They fall upon our garden and clean out our larder. The salad bowl and kettles not being large enough, they season and mix a huge salad in tubs and washboilers. It is all they will have to eat this evening.
Scarcely anyone was courageous enough to wait for rations, which were delayed by the block on the roads and did not arrive until nearly ten o'clock. Not a single man gets up.
The battle lasted very late last night.
The officers went up on the plateau of Huiry to follow the artillery duel that was in progress, and they found it amazing.
On one of my trips to-day I had the good luck to meet one of the few civilians. It is a man who has come from Chelles on foot. He has heard that Meaux, Crécy, Coulommiers and all the neighboring villages have been put to fire and sword. He wanted to see his people who live in this region. He had to swim across the Marne, and was obliged to go over and back several times in order to bring his clothing.
He is to return to Paris by the same route. I gave him several letters which he was kind enough to take charge of. They are notof great importance—mostly messages to my friends from whom I feel so cut off at this moment, but I want very much to set my brother's mind at rest as to the fate of his children. The thought of his anxiety makes me unhappy.
8 September, 1914.
WE were up at four this morning. The officers billeted in the house were not expecting to break camp until seven or eight o'clock, but they were suddenly roused by a messenger with orders to start at once. A hasty breakfast, and the signal for departure was given.
I run out into the wet grass of the garden to gather all the roses I can find. I hand them to the soldiers as they leave us saying: "From your mothers—from your sisters."
Tears come into their eyes, poorfellows! One of the officers takes my hand, kisses it and says:
"Your reminding us of our mothers and sisters, Mademoiselle, touches us deeply. It is with much emotion that I tell you, in behalf of my comrades and my men, who are too moved to speak for themselves, how grateful we are for the gracious vision we shall carry away with us to the battlefield with these roses."
I am afraid of breaking down, so I turn away abruptly and go to distribute fruit to the soldiers.
Several weeks later I received from the mother of one of them a letter thanking me for the kindness I had done in her name.
No need to thank me, Madam. Inthe face of the feelings that stirred me at that hour—feelings that I could not put into words—this act was small indeed. Those brave boys starting forth to face the cannon that boomed so near at hand—how could I make them understand that our prayers were with them—followed them? This poor makeshift was all I could find to let them know at this tragic moment that I longed to serve as a bond between them and their loved ones who were so far away.
I could not help thinking, too, that if one of them were to fall, he would at least have this little flower with him, and so be less alone.
We were just giving the last fruit and flowers to the late-comers whenone of them came to tell us he had left a side of beef in a store-room. "We haven't time to carry this meat to the wagons, so if you do not take it, it will be wasted. It would be a pity if no one used it."
What shall we do with it? And to think of those hungry boys who had no supper last night!
We hardly know what to do with this enormous piece of meat. But to begin with, there's only one thing to do. My aunt and I carry it with great difficulty to a clean place and, after a fashion, cut off steaks which we broil rapidly and put between slices of bread. The men take eagerly all they can carry of these meat sandwiches and start off on a run to find their chums, who, theysay, are going to have a "bully old time" eating them.
photographChâteau in the park of the Actors' Home at Couilly. It was there that the commune's first provisional hospital was set up where the English and the French were cared for after the Battle of the Marne
Château in the park of the Actors' Home at Couilly. It was there that the commune's first provisional hospital was set up where the English and the French were cared for after the Battle of the Marne
Things strewn around everywhere indicate the haste of the departure.
The cannonade was very heavy again last night.
Yesterday—Monday—the battle was stationary. To-day it seems to be farther away; the firing is most intense over towards the Ourcq.
After ten o'clock this morning there was not a single shot from the enemy.
The English came down from Coutevroult this morning and have crossed the Marne.
The French cuirassiers found a few Uhlans at Bouleurs, and cleared them out.
About two o'clock this afternoonFrench soldiers marched past in the direction of the Ourcq.
In the ambulance of the 115th regiment lay a poor boy suffering with dysentery. They could not take him farther, so he was left at Quincy, where he died a few days later in terrible agony. He is to be buried in the Quincy cemetery.
It was just as I thought. Therewerewounded men who succeeded in dragging themselves to the banks of the Marne.
Sister Jules was summoned to dress the wounds of two Moroccan sharp-shooters who managed to crawl along by the river until they were opposite the village of Condé. There they were seen and picked up.
The only horse and carriage leftanywhere about was sent to Pont-aux-Dames to fetch Sister Jules. She was going through deserted Couilly when a military automobile, driven by two officers, came by and stopped.
"Where are you going?" asked one of the officers in surprise.
"There are wounded soldiers in Condé. I am carrying dressings for one of them and cupping-glasses for the other, who has difficulty in breathing."
"Leave your carriage, Sister, and get into our automobile. We will have you there in five minutes."
Sister Jules accepted readily, thanking Heaven for sending her the means to reach more quickly the bedside of those who needed hercare. When she began working over her two wounded men, one of them showed her triumphantly a bullet he had just taken out of his foot himself! The man speaks French a little.
Hussars on patrol on the hill at Montpichet have killed Bavarian soldiers, they say. A young Boche is brought to Pont-aux-Dames. He is wounded rather seriously, but he appears to be suffering more from fright than from pain. His fears do not subside until he sees the kind face of Sister Jules bending over him.
Our hospital—the annex at Pont-aux-Dames, which is only semi-official—is installed in a wing of the house of the great comedian,Coquelin, alongside the wing where aged actors have their home. Among the retired actors who are there at this moment are Messieurs Monti, Gravier, Didier, Victor Gay, Mesdames Clarence, Antonia Laurent, Marie Georges, and the director, Monsieur Hervouet. They are all presided over by their dean, Angèle Desraux, ninety-five years old, whom they call "grandmother."
photographTomb of Coquelin in the park of the Actors' Home at CouillyQu'il dorme dans ce beau jardin ses vieux comédiens le gardent.—Rostand
Tomb of Coquelin in the park of the Actors' Home at CouillyQu'il dorme dans ce beau jardin ses vieux comédiens le gardent.—Rostand
All these good people were much frightened last Sunday by seeing Bavarians go by. They were in their dining-room when they saw them pass. The pointed helmets, sixteen of them, showed above the sash curtains.
After luncheon the old people were taking their walk in the parkwhen they heard voices not far away. Behind the tomb of Coquelin, to their great amazement, they saw the Bavarians sitting on the grass eating their luncheon. Suddenly two shots interrupted this rustic meal, a signal for the rally, doubtless, and the men mounted their horses and galloped off up the hill.
9 September, 1914.
THIS morning at nine, armed boats went down the canal towards Trilport.
A French cavalry division on the way to Paris gave us news to-day of victory. The Germans have been pushed back forty-five miles!
Miss Aldrich came hurrying down the hill at the very moment I was starting to run up. With a single impulse, each rushes to share her joy with the other.
We feel as if we had just awakened from a dream. It seems to me these three days have decided the fate ofFrance. All the glory of it belongs to those heroes whose dead bodies strew the plain. Behind this rampart we are safe.
14 September, 1914.
AT the top of the hill, in the same spot where we watched with aching hearts the passing of the refugees, we are now watching for the inhabitants of the countryside, who are beginning to come back.
photographOn the banks of the Marne
On the banks of the Marne
It is a soft, mellow autumn day. Everything is wrapped in a delicate veil of mist, and the sun, sifting through gently, touches the houses with a pale golden light.
Ah, but what a good and beautiful day! They are coming home!
Yes, there they come, slowly, in little groups.
Several black specks at the foot of the hill! Impatiently we wait until they are near enough for us to recognize them. How different is the look in their faces, and how different their whole bearing from that of the departure!
We are happy to see once more even those who were most indifferent to us. They are like members of our own family returning from a long journey.
Ah! How glad they are to catch sight of the roofs of their houses down below them in the valley!
In a few words they tell us what they have suffered. They have experienced in their wanderings all the anguish of the homeless. How dark the future looked to them,whereas now, their houses, safe from harm, full of sweet welcome, open wide their doors to receive them.