Chapter LXXXVIIILeft Behind
I was well satisfied with my work among the soldiers during these evenings and we were all benefiting very much by our rest. But we did not know just how soon we would be going into action. One evening towards seven o’clock, on coming back to Berneville after having attended a meeting at corps headquarters, I found men of the Fourth Division walking up and down the street. I was somewhat surprised at this, for when I had left in the morning the village had been occupied only by First Division troops. Now I saw no men of the Third Brigade. I stopped the first soldier I met and asked him where was the Sixteenth.
He told me he did not know, that the Sixteenth had “pulled out” about four o’clock and that another battalion had “taken over” these lines.
I went quickly to the place our mess had been, only to find other officers occupying it. They were just about to sit down to dinner, and invited me to remain, but I was too eager to have news of my troops. This was the first time they had ever stolen a march on me.
I opened the gate of the old curé’s garden, hoping to see George standing in the twilight somewhere among the roses; but there was no khaki-clad figure there. In fact, there was no one in the garden; everything was very quiet. Knocking on the door which led to the office and dining-room combined, I advancedinto the lamp-lit room to find the curé and his sister just about to sit down to their evening meal. They welcomed me warmly. It was good to see the kindly, beaming faces of my old friends; and as my eyes wandered from them to the table I saw that places had been set for three.
“Come,” said the old priest as he motioned me to the seat beside him. “Come, you are just in time, for we were about to begin, fearing you would not arrive.”
I sat down quickly, for I did not wish to delay any longer these good people. The memory of that evening is still very vivid; the low, lamp-lit room, with its quaint engravings on the wall, the old-fashioned furniture, the spotless white linen cloth, heavy silver and thick china, with blue scroll-work bordering of old chateaux and rustic-bridged streams. A large roll of coarse though wholesome brown bread, such as I had seen old “Mamma Katzenjammer” make some time before, was on a plate in the middle of the table, and beside this was a black-handled bread knife; a huge bottle of golden cider stood near the bread. Opposite me was a wooden bowl of salad and a large wooden fork and spoon.
Madame brought from the kitchen a small brown earthenware casserole and placed it before M. le Curé. The removal of the cover disclosed three plump little pigeons. Simultaneously M. le Curé and Madame looked at me. “In your honor,” said the priest as both bowed, jokingly.
I remembered how, when a boy, I had shot a fewpigeons, which when cooked I was unable to eat, because they were so tough. But the pigeons of old Madame were not tough. Indeed, I had never eaten any meat more tender. They had been pot roasted.
It was one of the pleasantest evenings I had ever spent in rest billets. As we sat at table they told me that the battalion had left for the front at four o’clock. George had packed my bed-roll, and had placed it and my portable altar on the general service wagon, leaving my haversack with articles I would need for the night. He had left word that we would not be going into action for a day or two and that I would be quite safe in staying that night in Berneville.
As we sat talking in the quiet lamp-lit room, and I realized all that was before me, I could not help thinking how pleasant it would be to live on in this peaceful old house, far from the horrors of war, and preach to the quiet peasants, and teach them the ways of God. But quickly I put this thought from my mind. The Master for whom I labored had sterner work for me to do. And tomorrow morning early I must leave, to go once more into The Red Vineyard.