Part 29

The clock in the little church struck two and an owl hooted mournfully in the belfry as silently our cortege plodded up the steep incline. When we reached the summit I could not resist turning around and casting a long affectionate glance on my lovely home-shining like a fairy palace in its setting of wonderful trees. Who could tell? I might never see it again!

George, too, must have been penetrated with the same sentiment, for he rode up close to the cart and grasping the mud guard, turned on his saddle and wistfully shaking his bead, gave vent to his feelings by the following very inelegant but extremely expressive ejaculation:

"Quels cochons! vous chasser d'une propriete parcille!"

A long shiver of emotion crept down my spine, and though it was but the second of September I instinctively drew the fur collar of my coat closer about my throat.

In front of me I could bear the wheels of our heavy-laden hay-cart creaking as the big farm horse plodded on. Its occupants were silent, and thanks to the moon and the lantern which hung up high behind, I could see Julie and Madame Guix nodding with sleep.

My own poor beast limped on and besides thinking of all that I had left undone at the chateau and planning how and where we could go, I had the constant vision of his silent suffering in front of me. At every little incline I would get down and throwing the reins over the neck of Betsy, my bull dog, who occupied the seat beside me, I would give Cesar his head and take my place with the boys behind. He seemed to be grateful.

Let it be said, however, that as our journey advanced the hoof, at first so tender from much poulticing, became firmer and firmer, and instead of increasing, the lameness rather grew less.

We crossed our little market town of Charly amid dead silence. Not a light in a single window, not a sound anywhere. We seemed to be the only souls astir, and the foolhardiness of this midnight departure when everyone else was tucked up snug in his bed, angered me. I was seized with a mad desire to turn about and go home.

Just then George asked me which direction I intended taking, and remembering H.'s imperative "Go south," we turned sharp and headed for the first bridge across the Marne.

High in front of me rose the dark wooded hills of Pavant, descending abruptly to that narrow strip of fertile plain which borders the river on both sides, but now half-veiled in a heavy blue mist. Below me the swift current sped onward like a silver arrow, and before so impressive a spectacle I could not help thinking how meager is the art of the scene painter and dramatist which tries to depict a real battlefield. For battlefield I felt this was, and my overstrained nerves no longer holding my imagination in check, I could already see human forms writhing in agony, and hear the moaning of souls on the brink of Eternity. As though to vivify this hallucination, the dying moon suddenly plunged behind a cloud, lighting the landscape but by strange lugubrious streaks, and in the distance behind us a long low rumble warned me that my dream might soon be a terrible reality.

The Marne crossed, a weight was lifted from my shoulders, and settling back against the pile of blankets in my rig, I let the horse follow his own sweet will and we started to zig-zag up a steep incline. At the end of five minutes' time I was so benumbed by the cold that sleep was impossible, so I left my seat and joined the others who, all save Yvonne, had been obliged to descend to relieve their horse. What a climb that was--seven long kilometers from right to left, winding around that hill, as about a mountain, ever and again finding ourselves on a narrow ledge overlooking the valley. The fog had spread until literally choked up between the bills and I could hardly persuade myself that it was not the sea that rolled below me. Even the signal lamps on the distant railway line rose out of the labyrinth like a lighthouse in mid-ocean, making the illusion complete.

Dawn was breaking as we reached the summit and pausing for a moment's breath, we could see people with bundles hurrying from cottages and farm yards, while the fields seemed dotted with horses and carts that sprang out of the semi-darkness like specters, following one another to the highway. In less than no time the long caravan had re-formed and was again under way.

We brought up the rear, preceded by five hundred snow-white oxen. There was no way of' advancing faster than the cortege. It was stay in line or lose your place, and as the sun rose over the plains, I was so impressed by the magnificence of our procession that I forgot the real cause of our flight and never for an instant realized that I now formed an intimate part of that column which but a few hours since inspired me with such genuine pity.

As we passed through a small agglomeration of houses that one might hardly call a village, I recognized several familiar faces on the doorsteps, and presently comprehended why Charly was so dark and silent the night before. It was empty--evacuated--and the greater part of its inhabitants were here on the roadside, preparing to continue their route.

Where were we going? I think none of us had a very definite idea. We were following in line on the only road that crossed this wonderfully fertile country. The monotony of the landscape, the warmth of the sun, added to the gentle swing of my cart calmed my nerves and I fell back into a heavy sleep.

When I opened my eyes I could hear water running over a dam, and see below me and but a very short distance away, a river flowing through a valley. Someone said it was the Petit Morin; another announced that we had come seventeen kilometers and a third proffered that it was 6:30 A. M.--time for breakfast. We ought not to attack the opposite hill on empty stomachs.

Accordingly we crossed the Petit Morin and broke ranks in front of two little cottages that bordered the river at the entrance of an electric power house. At the same time, a small covered gig halted beside our big cart and from it descended the mother of the two little girls she who had so much gold.

Did I mind if she followed in our wake?

Of course not.

She was still as timid and frightened as the night before, and it didn't take much questioning to learn that she had never had a pair of reins in her hands before in her life.

The boys took all the horses down to the river and carefully bathed their knees and legs. In the meantime, coffee had been found and ground, someone had scurried about and found a house where milk could be had, and on an iron tripod that I had sense enough to bring along, water was set to boiling.

It was very amusing that first picnic breakfast, and my! what appetites we had. The summer lodgers in one of the cottages gazed upon us in amazement--all save one little girl who, so it seems, had had a presentiment that some ill would befall her and for two days had not ceased weeping.

The meal over, each one went to my cart and taking possession of a blanket and pillow, rolled up in it and went fast asleep in the brilliant sunshine. How we blessed those warm, penetrating rays, for we had suffered much from the damp cold all night.

Left alone, I overhauled my wagon and made the discovery that my jewel box was missing. That did not alarm me much, for I was confident that I had left it on the refectory table, and would find it--like my silver chests--just where I had left them.

My road map showed us to be at La Tretoire, midway between Charly and Rebais, but as there were no provisions to be had in so small a place, I decided to push on to the township where we might be able to get lodgings. This, however, must be done before noon, or we would be obliged to sleep out of doors again, for it would be impossible to travel through the heat of the day. Accordingly, at half past eight, I roused the boys and we started up the hill, bag and baggage.

It was much the same kind of scene as at Pavant, only we were less excited and far more exhausted than at the outset of our trip. Each one stalked on, gritting his teeth and wiping the big beads of perspiration from his brow. By ten we reached the top and calling George, who had been walking beside the leader since we left home, I told him to take my place in the charette and I would mount my bicycle.

Leaving orders to follow the straight road to Rebais, I pushed on ahead, promising to do my best, and an hour later found myself on the outskirts of the little town--very weary and almost overcome by the heat. In the hurry of my departure from Villiers I had wrapped a scarlet chiffon scarf about my head, never thinking that a hat would be a very useful article in the daytime. For sixty minutes, then, as I had pedaled along that endless road, the sun had beaten down upon my head and shoulders, and when I came upon a public pump, I dropped down in the grass beside it, after wringing out my handkerchief in its refreshing water and bathing my burning face and arms.

When I finally made my entrance into Rebais, I found that thousands of other persons had probably had the same idea as I and it took but little time to discover that all rooms, whether private or public, were occupied. The place was overflowing with refugees. The line outside the baker's shop warned me that I had a dozen hungry mouths dependent upon me and yesterday's supply of bread was well nigh exhausted, let alone being stale. I took my place among the others and stood for a good hour waiting for the second ovenful to finish baking.