My Home in the Field of Honor Part 31

"What regiments drove them out?"

"The English. _Quels gaillards!_ And clean! Well!"

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, they nearly used up all the water in Montreuil was.h.i.+ng!"

"Do you know anything of Villiers?"

"No. I spent most of my time in the cellar during the fight, and since they've been gone I'm living in terror lest they return."

"Have you seen no one from down there?"

"No, not a soul."

"Do you think Villiers was bombarded?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I know the English troops that were here headed in that direction."

This suspense was too agonizing! I fear I so abbreviated my stay at Montreuil that the good inn-keeper was offended. I jumped on to my bicycle and knowing that the roads were now familiar to all, abandoned my little party, bidding them hurry to join me at home.

On, on I sped, through the slippery mud, looking neither right nor left, but straight ahead in the hope of recognizing a familiar face or form.

Twilight was deepening when I entered Bezu-le-Gury (our nearest home town), which seemed to show apparently but few signs of pillaging. I did not even dismount to make inquiries, but pedaled on till I reached the summit of that long, long hill that leads straight down to my home.

Excitement lent a new impulse to my energy, and my heart thumped hard as I recognized familiar cottages still standing. This raised my hopes and sent me rocket-like down that steep incline.

Still not a soul in sight--no noise save that of the guns roaring in the distance.

But what was that in the semi-darkness ahead of me? A dog? Could it be true? I back-pedaled and whistled--a long, low, familiar howl greeted my ears and brought the tears to my eyes.

And then my poor old beagle hound came trotting up the road to welcome me--his tail wagging joyously and a long frayed cord dangling from his collar.

This was a relief and somewhat steadied and prepared me for what was to come. Through a gap in the trees I caught a glimpse of the roofs below.

And so I rounded the corner and started on my last hundred yards.

The broken and tangled grill of our stately gateway told of the invaders' visit. A few paces further and the chateau come into full view.

Yes, it was standing, but only the sh.e.l.l of that lovely home I had fled from but fourteen days before.

Dropping my machine I rushed towards the entrance hall, cast one glance through the broken panes into the vestibule, and turned away in despair.

All the willful damage that human beings could do had been wrought on the contents of my home.

The spell was broken. My nerves relaxed and heedless of the filth I dropped on to the steps and wept.

IX

I think it was the stench from within that first roused me from my grief and made me realize that this was war and no time for tears. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that at least I had a roof to cover me, but this was poor consolation.

Pulling myself together, I started across the lawn towards the village in search of aid, for a second glance told me that it was useless even to think of entering the house, so great was the filth and disorder.

Slowly I pushed onward, my head bent, my heart heavy with sorrow and worry. Twenty paces in front of me I discerned a low mound and then, horror of horrors, a huge black cross stood forth in the semi-darkness.

A grave--a German grave. Some poor souls interred on my greensward; but why, since our little cemetery is but a couple of hundred yards up the road?

Villiers is not a cheerful village even in time of peace, but on this particular evening (September 14, 1914) it was even darker than ever. My eyes growing accustomed to the obscurity could see that most of the houses, though damaged from the battle, were still standing and in one or two windows the glow of a light gladdened my gaze.

I went straight to the town hall where I pounded on the door and called my name. A familiar shuffling of feet told me that Monsieur Duguey had remained faithful to his post as town clerk (the only acting official since the army was mobilized) and when he opened the door and saw me, his eyes lit up with joy. Holding a candle high over his head, he smiled and then his face fell.

"_Pauvre Madame,_" he said. "Have you seen the chateau?"

I nodded.

"Ah, the vandals! Not war, but highway robbery, I call it. We poor peasants had little to lose, but with you, Madame, it is different."

And then he told me how but a few hours after I had left the Germans took possession of the chateau and how for five nights and days in a ceaseless stream the flower of the Prussian army had poured down the road towards the coveted capital.

At dawn on that eventful September morning an officer had ridden up to the town hall, called for the mayor or his representative, and on Monsieur Duguey's appearance, had demanded so much fodder for the horses, so much champagne for the officers, and Charles Huard!

M. Duguey was taken hostage to respond to the first two demands and on having sworn on the cross that both my husband and I were absent, he was ordered to lead the way to our home, where for forty-eight hours he was detained as prisoner in the kitchen, while a staff of German n.o.blemen raised riot in our home.

Taunted and insulted by the soldiers who mounted guard in the kitchen where a chef prepared the general's food, he was bid hold his tongue and his temper by this same chef, who, for eleven years, had cooked at a well known hotel on the rue de Rivoli! No wonder he spoke good French.

"_Pauvre Madame!_ Perhaps you've come back too soon! If we only knew they would not return!"

The cannon in the distance shook the house as though to corroborate his statement.

"Is there anyone left to help me clean place to sleep in?"

"I'll go. There are only one or two women who remained behind, but I presume sorry they did! What a G.o.d-send you got away!"

I understood and was thankful.

Monsieur Duguey put his candle into lantern, shouldered a broom, and taking blanket, led the way towards the chateau.

Want of words to express our fears and distress sealed our lips as we picked our way into a filthy, can-strewn, bottle-littered courtyard, towards a wing of the chateau where I had chosen to sleep.

I hardly know what we plodded through the corridor. My companion pushed things, into heaps in one corner of the room, and when I saw him sweep off a mattress and throw his blanket upon it, I realized that my bed was made.

"You are not afraid, Madame?"

"No."

"Then _a demain_. I will come and help you. I fear, however, that I must leave you in darkness, for there are no matches in the village. We have to borrow light for our fires, and our stock of candles is nearly gone. They are only the b.u.t.ts the Germans left behind!"

Exhausted I fell asleep, to be awakened with a start towards dawn by the clatter of horses' feet on the paved court beneath my window.