My Home in the Field of Honor Part 28

It was useless to try to drive our cart up the main street, so calling a pa.s.sing comrade, my detainers bid him hold my horse until they returned after having _fait leur affaire_, as they expressed it.

The plate gla.s.s windows of every store lay in thousands of pieces below their sashes, and the entire stock of merchandise whether furniture or drapery, groceries or dairy products, had been hurled through them into the middle of the thoroughfare. Above these were piled pell-mell bedding and chairs, wardrobes and wash basins, all splintered and broken--the whole making the most pitiable conglomeration I ever hope to witness. One plucky dealer was already boarding up the great yawning cavities that were once show windows, and here and there a frightened female face peeped out from behind the ruins of her commerce.

"Madame Huard!" cried a familiar voice behind me. "_Mon Dieu_--you!"

I turned and recognized my pastry baker's wife.

"_Oui, moi; arretee._"

"Arrested!"

"Yes, unless you will be good enough to inform these gentlemen who I am?"

"_Est-il possible! Est-il possible!_ Why, of course, I know you--how dare they!"

"You see," I said, turning to the _auxilaires_.

But they were inflexible, bidding my friend follow on if she could swear to my ident.i.ty. She obeyed, but our group had attracted the attention of a couple of small boys who darted out of an alley way like rats from a cellar, calling, "_L'espionne--l'espionne!_"

Thank fortune, at that instant we came upon an officer, whom I accosted at a distance, explained my case and produced my card and my pastry baker. He understood in a moment, and hastily discharged my custodians.

"I cannot scold them. They're over zealous, but we've been so horribly betrayed all along. You understand, I'm sure. Please accept my apologies, Madame!"

I bowed and he departed. Then I turned to my friend.

"You've heard the news, I suppose, Madame?"

"No--what?"

She suddenly grew white.

"Quick--out with it, woman!"

She hesitated.

"Is H.--?"

"_Non_, not that, Madame, but a quarter of an hour ago it was noised about that the enemy are still retreating, and that we were pounding into their headquarters--le chateau de Villiers."

I felt myself whitening. The woman saw it, and catching me by the arm.

"Come, come," she said. "You're tired; perhaps it isn't true, so many false alarms have been launched. Come and have a cup of coffee--you'll excuse our back room--it's all we have left."

I gladly followed her, picking my way through what had once been one of the most enticing of provincial pastry shops, the good soul apologizing all the time, as if she had been responsible for the damage. As she prattled on, though my own brain was swimming I now and then grasped such phrases as three days of looting, two days' bombardment. As she pa.s.sed me a cup of coffee, she explained that the invaders had not been satisfied with violently appropriating all personal articles which they had found to their liking, but after having drunk all the wine in the cellars, they had willfully cut open the bags of flour and thrown it pell-mell in every direction.

"And, Madame, they got into my reserve of eggs--five thousand of them--"

she wept, "five thousand! All my winter's store. I wouldn't have minded if they had eaten them but to see them purposely crushed and wasted. Two of those wretches spent half a day bringing them up from the cellar in their helmets, and then dragging me out, would hurl them at the walls and windows, savagely rejoicing in my distress!"

I couldn't remain indoors--I had but one thought--get to Villiers or see someone who knew for certain what had happened there.

Again I crossed the shop, paddling through that sticky yellow slime in which bits of furniture and clothing floated like croutons in a gigantic nauseating omelet.

Outside, towards the end of the street that opened on to the quay, great animation reigned. A bugle sounded and I could hear the tramp of soldiers' feet.

"Look!" cried my friend. "Look, all that is left of the Inst.i.tut St.

Joseph, the pride of La Ferte."

Across the river between the broken spans of the bridge, my eye fell upon the gutted remains of what had once been a most exquisite bit of eighteenth century architecture. The mansion which had sheltered Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette on their eventful return from Varennes, was now a smoking pile of ashes!

"And to think we had to do it! Oh, curse their hides!" muttered an elderly man close to my elbow.

"We?"

"Yes."

"Why, when they had to get out of here they crossed the Marne, destroyed the bridge and entrenched themselves in the houses along the bank. The English caught them like rats in a cage, but at what a price! One fellow that's rowed across says he can bear them moaning, but you bet they can rot there before we'll go to 'em. Begging your pardon for the language!"

A dozen men of the _genie_ were busy constructing a temporary arch between two spans, and just as soon as a plank was laid a regiment from Cherbourg (almost all reservists) filed over one by one. The population gave them an ovation, and it was a curious sight to see these care-worn, haggard-faced people simply going mad with joy, while around them was heaped desolation.

"I hope you haven't come for your tea service, Madame?"

I turned and recognized my china dealer, who smiled cynically as he motioned towards his shop.

"It doesn't pay to be a gla.s.s merchant these days. It only took two sh.e.l.ls to send twenty years' earnings into splinters! There's not a whole goblet or plate in the entire establishment! But I wouldn't have cared if they hadn't maltreated the women. I--"

"Come and see!" cried another. "Durant's house has tumbled down and his wife and family are smothering in the cellar. Quick!"

There was a general rush in that direction, but I pushed on towards the bridge. It was evident my carts could not cross, but there was just a hope that they would let George and me through with our bicycles.

I accosted the sentry who stood mounting guard beside a motor which was thrown up on the side of the road, twisted and distorted like a tin toy one has walked on.

No, the bridge was for the army only.

I insisted.

An officer came to my rescue, but could only confirm the sentry's orders.

"You're not safe even here. This is the firing line. We don't know yet for certain whether we are going to hold the ground we gained. Villiers?

Still in the Germans' hands."

I sighed and was about to turn away. "Then where's the nearest bridge across?"

"Meaux."

"But that's thirty kilometres west! I'm only fifteen from home here!"

"I wish I could help you, but there's no use trying to leave here unless you go that way."