Part 34

In half an hour we had caught up with the caravan, and as I lifted poor exhausted Betsy on to the hay, Nini roused from her dozing and pointing to the east, said, "Oh, look! what a big fire!"

"You silly child, it's the sun rising; go back to sleep," I said, terrified by what I had seen, but unwilling to alarm the others uselessly.

At the skyline of an immense plain that stretched on our left, huge columns of flame burst heavenward, covered a moment later by dense black smoke. Fortunately, however, the sun peeped over the horizon almost instantly, thereby diminishing the intensity of the conflagration. But Nini was not to be thus hoodwinked.

"See," she continued, "what funny little fluffy clouds those are!"

"Nini, if you don't go to sleep at once you'll have to get down and walk, and let one of the boys take your place. They'll be only too glad to, I know."

Nini obeyed instantly. She had come away with but one pair of shoes (in spite of my admonition to take all the footwear she possessed) and that pair of shoes pinched.

Funny little fluffy clouds indeed! The shaking of the earth beneath my feet and a second of reflection told me, they were not clouds, before they would be directed westward was but shells--and how long it would be a question that chilled the blood in my veins.

The town we were heading for--La Ferte Gauche--lay southeast. Though I had no glass, it was evident that it was now under the enemies' fire, and we might just as well run our necks into a noose as keep on in that direction. It was southwest--or nothing.

Without offering any explanation I rode ahead and told Leon to follow me. Then turning abruptly to the right, I took the first side path that was wide enough for our cart wheels, and in and out, up and down, we followed it for over an hour, until coasting down a steep incline, I found myself in the midst of a delightful little village, nestled between two hills on the border of a river.

The shops were just opening and people were going about their work as if nothing unusual were happening. They gazed in astonishment at this hatless bicyclist, who wore a Red Cross armlet, and when I went into the baker shop, I was filled with joy at the sight of all the crisp loaves lined up in their racks ready for delivery.

Refugees?

They hadn't seen any. Someone had heard an unaccustomed movement of wagons during the night, that was all.

A signpost, as I turned into the square, told me that I was at Jouy-sur-Morin, and a few moments later, I came upon a group of gentlemen in frock coats standing talking on an embankment below the church. If it had been in the afternoon instead of five A. M., I should have thought this assembly perfectly in harmony with the landscape. In fact they looked so much like H.'s caricatures of his provincial compatriots that I couldn't help smiling as I passed. This mutational gathering of the municipal council was the only outward sign of anxiety to be found in this picturesque township.

The arrival of our caravan produced quite a sensation among the early risers at Jouy, thought the enthusiasm for telling their story had somewhat subsided among my servants. They were footsore, sleepy, and hungry.

The gentlemen in frock coats were too busy in their own affairs to give us much attention, and I was about to leave when one of them called me over and asked a few questions. Anxious to be off, I answered briefly. The man probably took me for a poor demented female; how could he think otherwise down here in his little valley, where not a sound of gun and shell had penetrated as yet?

History will tell you how, a few hours later, Jouy-sur-Morin was the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the Marne.

At the dairy, my appearance aroused much curiosity, and when I brought out the money to pay for my milk, the woman held up her hand. "No, never; I couldn't take pay from such forlorn creatures as you!"

This unexpected pity brought the blood to my cheeks. I was hot with indignation. Until now we had wanted for nothing, and with gold in my pocket charity was an insult. I straightened my tie, looked at my dusty boots, and realized for the first time that my face was drawn with fatigue and anxiety--that my hair, though tidy, was sadly out of curl. Leaving my change on the table, I turned on my heel and departed. Explanations were tiresome and useless.

We crossed a railroad track and then the river--the Grand Morin--and in a grass-grown granite quarry halted for breakfast, sheltering ourselves from the blistering sun in the shade of the immense rocks.

The boys took the horses down to the river to drink and bathe, and a few seconds later came back for towels and soap.

What a happy idea! A quarter of a mile higher up the bank I found a well secluded spot, and plunged into the refreshing current. It was the first time I had had my boots off since leaving Villiers. Thanks to a small pocket glass and a fresh white blouse, I made myself quite presentable and as I approached our camp, the appetizing odor of fresh fried country sausage tickled my nostrils and made me glad to be alive.

Hot coffee accompanied by buttered toast had been prepared by the girls during my absence, and we needed no coaxing to persuade us to do the meal justice. Already accustomed to this gypsy life, George's dry humor began to show itself, and now and again the silence would be broken by peals of laughter, caused by some quaint joke.

We lingered lovingly over the repast, and I was trying to decide whether or not we would push on at once or wait and rest until afternoon when suddenly my question was answered for me.

While we had been clearing up and loading the carts a long train of freight cars had noiselessly glided down the rails opposite our quarry, and had halted without pulling into the station. There was nothing abnormal in this, and from where we sat a trifle below the level of the track, we could see but little of what was going on on the opposite platform. Standing upright in my charette, carefully folding a blanket so as to take up the least possible space, my eye was attracted by several red specks scurrying up a steep incline. A moment afterwards my gaze drifted downward and I realized that from the innocent looking freight cars hundreds of armed soldiers were disembarking and spreading themselves out, en tirailleurs, preparing an attack in ambush. I had seen this same pretty feat successfully accomplished at the grand manauvres, the year before, but it was another thing entirely when one grasped that these men were in dead earnest.

Just then a buggy, containing a disheveled woman and collarless man, galloped over the crossing and sped westward. The occupants, whom I hailed, did not deign a reply, but beckoning with their arms, enjoined me to follow them.

"It's time to break camp," I said, "if we intend to reach the next town before it gets too hot."

So off we started, preceded by a heavy delivery wagon, a Familistere from the north, which crossed the rails just as we were pulling onto the road. It was a big covered affair, filled to overflowing with bedding and household utensils--and even the top was loaded with huge boxes and baskets of provisions. Behind it walked, or rather trotted, three stout women and a man, the former half-crazed with heat and anxiety, mopping their brows and their tears as the cortege advanced.

An hour and a half of steady climbing quite exhausted them, and when we reached the level, the three graces collapsed by the roadside, still weeping copiously. I observed this as I approached, and presently saw their companion mounted on the high hind wheel of their wagon, gazing intently towards the east through a pair of field glasses.