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MY HOME IN THE 
 FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 FRANCES ^ON HUARD 
 
THE CHATEAU DE VILL1ERS 
 
MY HOME IN THE 
 FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES WILSON HUARD 
 
 WITH DRAWINGS BY CHARLES HUARD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
y* 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 W 10 1917 
 
 ©CIA479028 
 
To 
 
 My Dear Friends 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. David Z. Norton 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF WHOSE TRULY 
 
 PARENTAL AFFECTION THIS BOOK 
 
 IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 
 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Chateau de Villiers Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In the Army Zone of France 22 v 
 
 The Retreat from Charleroy to the Marne 44 
 
 Amed-ben-Mohamed, Nini's Arab, who be- 
 longed to our Moroccan troops 74 
 
 Someone got news that his family had fled 
 during the invasion 118' 
 
 Not a single house had been exempt from 
 
 SHELL-FUtE 128 
 
 View of Soissons from the Pont de Villeneuve 142 
 
 The College Door, Soissons 168' 
 
 "you understand, madame, you are in the 
 trenches, you are hungry, the dinner is 
 late in coming" 196 
 
 the loneliness of the roads — in peace times 
 always alive with traffic and pleasure- 
 CARS 214 
 
 Entrance to the trenches near the Pont- 
 Neuf, Soissons 238 v 
 
 Calm amid the general tumult 258 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF 
 MERCY 
 
 Triumphantly we hoisted the Red Cross 
 flag. George had found it and dug it out from 
 beneath numerous layers of filth in the cow- 
 stable, Yvonne had washed it (without soap — 
 we had none) and all of us had taken turns 
 coaxing it to dry so that it would float proudly 
 when finally pulled to the top of the mast which 
 with great difficulty had been made fast to one 
 of the pinions of the chateau. 
 
 It was no easy task this re-instating a hos- 
 pital at a moment's notice. To bring order out 
 of the chaos that had been wrought by the Hun, 
 especially as we had neither utensils, washing 
 soda nor matches, was not only fatiguing but 
 at times disheartening. And it was, therefore, 
 with no undue pride that we crowned our suc- 
 cessful efforts by raising the banner of Mercy. 
 
 Despair, that had seized us all on our return 
 from a rather nerve racking, adventurous fort- 
 
 en] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 night spent on the highroad as refugees, gave 
 way to a mad desire to eradicate as quickly as 
 possible every trace of the invader. A new life 
 surged through our veins when it was an- 
 nounced that the Chateau de Villiers was actu- 
 ally to become a military hospital. Then we 
 were really going to serve our country! At 
 last! The loud and persistent rumbling of the 
 none too far distant cannon told us we could 
 be ready none too soon. 
 
 Up until the moment that an officer had 
 driven into the yard, and informed me the mili- 
 tary authority needed my home, I must confess 
 that I had viewed my situation in rather a dole- 
 ful light. Ten days of superintending the 
 shovelling out and burying the filth that had 
 been my most cherished possessions had a bit 
 unnerved me, and the very rough food we had 
 to nourish us somewhat aggravated a long sus- 
 pected case of appendicitis. 
 
 In spite of my every reproof Yvonne would 
 continually and audibly mourn over the wanton 
 destruction of my poultry and cattle, while 
 George's profane vocabulary augmented daily 
 in volume and picturesqueness. As to Betsy, 
 the Boston bull, she of the sugar box fame, one 
 [12] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 morning she tiptoed on three legs into the 
 kitchen, rolled a wistful glance over the un- 
 savoury concoction with which we were essay- 
 ing to remove grease from the tiled floor, gave 
 one resentful sniff, and retired in high dudgeon 
 to the rabbit holes in the sand quarry accom- 
 panied by the old fox hound who evidently 
 thought that vicinity more propitious for the 
 recounting of his experiences during our ab- 
 sence. 
 
 And now I come to think of it I believe it 
 was Betsy who brought to mind the fact 
 that I had buried two trunkfuls of H.'s etch- 
 ings and drawings. She would wander in 
 each evening at dusk and begin a series of con- 
 tortions on what remained of the greensward, 
 trying vainly to remove the sand that had 
 stuck to her eyelids and made them smart. It 
 was while helping brush it away that I thought 
 of the quarry. So the next morning, armed 
 with the most primitive instruments (the 
 Germans had appropriated everything in the 
 way of farming implements ) we sallied forth in 
 quest of our belongings. 
 
 On that eventful night some four or five 
 weeks since, when I had been ordered to evacu- 
 [13] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ate my home, to flee before the oncoming Ger- 
 man hordes, I had taken with me Madame 
 Guix, my nurse sent from Soissons in the early 
 days of the war, to help establish my hospital : 
 George and Leon, farm hands under military 
 age: Emile, who had brought me marching 
 orders: Yvonne and Nini, two youthful maid 
 servants in my employ, and Julie, an older 
 woman of the village who with her family had 
 followed in our wake. 
 
 At present my household was somewhat de- 
 pleted. Madame Guix had remained in Rebais 
 to care for the wounded : Emile and Leon had 
 left us at Melun, journeying to Fontainebleau 
 to enlist, and Julie, finding her own home in as 
 sorry a plight as mine, was obliged to devote 
 her every moment to setting it to rights. 
 
 So now this morning it was rather a meagre 
 staff that trod up the hill towards the quarry. 
 There were only four of us ; Yvonne and Nini, 
 George and myself. The two former mere 
 children incapable of exhausting labour. 
 
 A glance at the quarry told us that either our 
 
 hiding place had been discovered, or others had 
 
 had the same idea as we about burying things in 
 
 the sand. Our curiosity stimulated, we set to 
 
 [14] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 digging with ardour in what George indicated 
 as the proper locality, I pausing only to wipe 
 the beads from my brow or to remonstrate with 
 George whose verbal qualifications of his hast- 
 ily hand-made shovel, while novel, were hardly 
 fit for our ears. 
 
 Presently the boy plunged the spade deep 
 into the moist sand, and then after a »second's 
 pause during which he bent over the excava- 
 tion he lifted his head and I noted that his face 
 wore a queer expression. 
 
 "Was one of those trunks we buried made of 
 leather, Madame?" 
 
 "No! Why?" 
 
 "Hum; well I have hit something that 
 resists, and don't you smell that funny odour?" 
 
 I sniffed in that direction. A second later a 
 nauseating whiff greeted my nostrils, and 
 dropping my spade I jumped clear of the 
 quarry bidding the others follow. The girls 
 had guessed my thoughts and we stood there 
 gaping at each other while uncanny ideas com- 
 menced whirring through my brain. 
 
 "George!" 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 "Fill in that hole and come away at once." 
 [15] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why ? Can't you see that someone is buried 
 there? Be he French or German we have no 
 right to be poking about in his grave." 
 
 The boy cast another shovelful aside. 
 
 "Have the Germans got cloven hoofs?" he 
 queried. 
 
 "No. But they ought to have." 
 
 "And long hairy tails?" 
 
 No longer able to restrain my curiosity I 
 jumped beside the lad, cast my eyes down- 
 ward, and beheld — a cow's hoof and tail pro- 
 truding from the earth. 
 
 I breathed again. Thank God, that was all. 
 Much relieved I soon realised that the debris 
 of the quadruped had been hastily interred 
 here to prevent disease spreading, and the next 
 thing to be done was to discover at just what 
 angle the animal was buried, so that if possible 
 the trunks might be got at by digging further 
 away. Presently we had made our calculations 
 and in a couple of hours' time the objects of 
 our quest stood high and dry on the grass. 
 
 George and I were not strong enough to lift 
 them into our cart, so they had to be opened on 
 the spot and their contents transferred to the 
 [13] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 waggon. And while audibly congratulating 
 the boy for having buried them so deep that no 
 harm had come to the drawings, I inwardly 
 berated myself for having made such hasty 
 choice among them, and a big lump rose in my 
 throat as I thought of all those that left in 
 the studio cupboards had been destroyed or 
 stolen. 
 
 In the meantime the emblem of mercy was 
 proudly waving in the wind and sunset found 
 the excavating party weary and exultant, but 
 having accomplished little that day towards 
 the immediate installation of a hospital. 
 
 As far as we were concerned the actual prep- 
 aration for receiving wounded men was limited. 
 Our task consisted in scouring the apartments 
 and getting into line such of my beds as had 
 been left with mattresses, and the sorting out 
 of every odd and end that might be of service. 
 
 Every sanitary arrangement had been de- 
 stroyed beyond repair, likewise the electric 
 light plant, the furnace and even the kitchen 
 stove. The latter being of great importance, 
 however, we managed to patch it up with some 
 half dozen bricks and lived in the hope that we 
 might be able to obtain coal. 
 [17] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 In fact every turn, every step, during those 
 first awful weeks had brought a surprise of one 
 kind or another: some disheartening, some 
 comic — the latter only when one could get 
 away from the personal side of the question 
 long enough to appreciate the minute and sys- 
 tematic working out of minor details to make 
 a campaign of frightfulness and destruction 
 complete. 
 
 It was thus when things had been prac- 
 tically set to rights that I found myself won- 
 dering why certain unmentionable articles of 
 female attire had alone been chosen to remove 
 the pot-black from the kettles employed by 
 General Von Kluck's chef. One by one we 
 had -fished them out with a stick from a little 
 recess behind the stove, indescribable bundles 
 of tattered embroidery, ribbons and filth, and 
 one by one we had dropped them into the ash 
 can on its way to the great gaping dunghole. 
 
 Why not my night robes? I wondered. 
 There is infinitely more cloth in them. They 
 would have been far more practical for the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 The latter had disappeared en masse; not 
 a vestige of them was to be found anywhere. 
 [18] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 A couple of days later I had a visit from 
 my neighbour Mother Poupard, who with her 
 husband and two little grandsons had remained 
 during the invasion. She had managed to hide 
 a couple of hens under an empty barrel in her 
 cellar and had come to offer me her first fresh 
 eggs. I accepted gladly and we talked. 
 
 Mother Poupard was loquacious, at times 
 almost eloquent in her qualification of the in- 
 vaders' actions, and when I asked her if she had 
 an inkling as to what they had done with my 
 missing lingerie the question brought forth a 
 stream of aphorisms which bordered on the 
 humorous. 
 
 "Your nightgowns, Madame? Ah, Sainte 
 Vierge Marie protect us! ah, the vandals! I 
 saw them. They needn't think I didn't. I 
 would like to have one of them right here this 
 minute. I would make him tell you how after 
 they got through washing in the river they went 
 in and robbed your cupboards. All Monsieur's 
 shirts first, and after that your nightgowns. 
 Yes, Madame, the Lord is my witness. They 
 put them on and went strutting up and down 
 the village with those Irish lace collars that 
 Catherine spent so much time making, hanging 
 [19] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 out over their dirty uniforms. Ah, Madame, 
 the pity! and when one of them came over 'To 
 borrow' some brandy from Father, I up and 
 said what I thought. And what do you sup- 
 pose he answered?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "He came right out in French and remarked 
 that it was a pity all the women in France were 
 not as big as Madame so the whole German 
 army could have clean shirts every week." 
 
 I laughed. After all this was harmless 
 amusement. But brawny Mother Poupard 
 failed to see the humour of the situation and 
 went on extolling her losses at great length, in 
 fact to such length that a bit hardened by my 
 experiences I fancy I lent but one ear to the 
 conversation and my mind wandered to many 
 little homes in the village where innocent 
 women had remained and borne the brunt of 
 invasion otherwise than by the loss of their 
 household belongings. Alas, must war be ever 
 thus. . . . 
 
 My attention was caught anew by Mother 
 Poupard's last phrase : 
 
 "You can't trust any of them! Not even the 
 best. They are all alike. Those quartered on 
 f20] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 us played so nicely with little John. We had 
 confidence in them. He wasn't a bit afraid. 
 They took him on their knees just as they did 
 me in 1870. He liked them, poor darling, he 
 didn't know who they were. He used to bring 
 in his toys to show them. One day he asked for 
 his jack-in-the-box, the lovely one Madame 
 gave him two years ago Christmas. I treas- 
 ured it in the armoire; such a lovely toy, I 
 used to bring it out when we had company. It 
 was such a distraction. I cannot think what 
 made the child want it. I had hidden it. Well, 
 he went on so that finally I had to go and get 
 it — it was against my will though. They put 
 it on the table and Polichinelle jumped up 
 and down on his long spring delighting them 
 all. Then that innocent lamb in the midst of 
 his excitement called out 'C'est un Boche!' 
 Ah, Madame, Madame! they shook the poor 
 little soul until I thought his head would drop 
 off and throwing Polichinelle on the floor they 
 stamped on it, all the while shouting so loud 
 and so roughly and pointing to Johnny. 
 What a misfortune, what a loss! such an ex- 
 pensive toy!" 
 
 How useless, I thought. 
 [21] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 From what has already been said it is easy 
 to perceive that prospects in general were 
 scarcely encouraging, but as the fine weather 
 still continued our spirits rose and our desire 
 to render ourselves useful sharpened our wits 
 and taught us to make the best of the situation. 
 We all knew from sad experience that it might 
 have been far worse. 
 
 So arduous were our daily duties that we had 
 little time for reflection, and for this I heartily 
 thanked heaven. The days were beginning to 
 grow shorter and shorter and I seemed to dread 
 the long Autumn evenings when nothing save 
 the huge open fireplace, which served at once 
 as range, radiator and light, sent forth its 
 kindly glow, and hushed the tongues of the 
 youth clustered about it, making all the more 
 solemn the booming of the great guns through 
 the darkness. 
 
 I fully realised now, what a wonderful, nay 
 almost sacred thing was our confidence in our 
 men, our army. For though living in total 
 ignorance of what had befallen my husband, 
 all of us torn by the greatest moral agony for 
 those we loved, alone, unprotected, isolated 
 from the entire world in the army zone of 
 [22] 
 
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 IN THE ARMY ZONE OF FRANCE 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 France, scarce a score of miles from the scenes 
 of ghastly carnage — never, never for a single 
 moment did we fear lest we had returned too 
 soon. We seemed to know that we had come 
 home for good. 
 
 Our humble evening meal was almost invari- 
 ably composed of vegetable soup and a few ripe 
 grapes, the former ladled from the steaming 
 kettle that hung on a tripod in the chimney. 
 And then afterwards how often have I crept 
 away to bed drawing a pair of damp sheets 
 about me in the chill darkness of my room, 
 totally indifferent to existing conditions, only 
 mindful of the Kind Destiny that had so 
 shaped my ends as to earn me the right to say 
 "We" when speaking of the French. 
 
 Slowly but surely things were beginning to 
 get into shape. There were only a few more 
 beds to be set up and the day fixed for the 
 arrival of the military motor which was to 
 whisk me to Rebais in quest of my nurse, was 
 rapidly approaching. "A few beds to set up" 
 may not mean much to the ordinary human 
 being, but I assure you I quickly realised it 
 was by no means a one man proposition. 
 [23] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 George had promised his help but it seemed to 
 me I could never put my hand on him. Just 
 when I needed him most the kitchen garden 
 (such of it as remained) apparently required 
 his immediate attention, or else it was the 
 quinces to be picked, or the mangles to be 
 brought in. Always some good excuse to be 
 away from the chateau a couple of hours each 
 day. 
 
 I paid little attention to the matter, but early 
 one morning as I looked through the paneless 
 sash of what had once been my bedroom win- 
 dow and glanced down the long driveway I 
 caught sight of George coming in the gate, 
 heavily laden with some queer trappings and 
 tenderly bearing an indistinguishable object in 
 his arms. He cast a furtive glance towards 
 the chateau, which aroused my curiosity, so 
 I determined to question him at once, but on 
 my way downstairs to breakfast my attention 
 was diverted, so the morning passed and the 
 matter slipped my mind. 
 
 A moment before luncheon, however, I hap- 
 pened to turn the handle of the door leading 
 into what had formerly been our tool room. 
 I stood spell bound at the threshold every 
 [24] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 hair on my head fairly rising in terror. On the 
 floor and shelves of the entire place were strewn 
 unexploded shells of every kind and calibre, a 
 perfect arsenal, and in the midst of it all on an 
 empty upturned gasolene can sat my farm 
 boy, hugging a German 77 mm. shell between 
 his knees and struggling vainly to insert his 
 jack-knife between its steel bindings. 
 
 "George!" I gasped, when I had sufficiently 
 recovered to find my voice. "What on earth 
 are you doing?" 
 
 "Opening a German shell." 
 
 "But—" 
 
 "It is the easiest thing in the world. I saw 
 an artillery man at Melun do it, and yesterday 
 I managed this one beautifully." 
 
 He held up the butt of a German 77 mm. 
 Visions of how we might all have been rapidly 
 blown to another world through the careless 
 slip of that boy's knife flitted swiftly through 
 my head. 
 
 "But it is madness, George." 
 
 He didn't seem much impressed and while 
 
 collecting my faculties I cast a rapid glance 
 
 around the room. From pegs driven into the 
 
 wall dangled military harnessings and trap- 
 
 [25] 
 
♦ 
 
 MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 pings of every description ; the place was a per- 
 fect museum, and as I advanced towards the 
 shelf beneath the window I caught sight of a 
 battered can half full of what seemed to be 
 dried tea leaves. 
 
 "What's this in here?" 
 
 "German powder." 
 
 Ye Gods ! Residence atop an active volcano 
 would surely have been as safe as was the 
 Chateau de Villiers under existing circum- 
 stances. I put my foot down firmly. 
 
 "Where on earth did you get all this 
 stuff?" 
 
 "Out in the fields around here. Every boy 
 in the place is making a collection but mine is 
 the most complete up to date," was the proud 
 reply. 
 
 "I know, but these things don't belong to 
 you. They are not even French", I retorted, 
 my eyes fixed on a wheel belonging to a Ger- 
 man gun carriage that had been rolled in to 
 join the other trophies. 
 
 "Don't belong to me?" the lad's eyes kindled. 
 
 "Did anything in this place belong to them? 
 
 No! But they took it just the same, didn't 
 
 they? Everything that pleased them and more 
 
 f26] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 too. So what's a handful of relics like this in 
 comparison?" 
 
 The argument was clear. There was no an- 
 swer. So I entrenched myself behind the 
 powder question, soundly scolding the boy for 
 his imprudence, in daring to bring so much 
 dangerous stuff into the house. 
 
 "But George," I argued, "what on earth 
 did you intend doing with them supposing fate 
 had permitted you to open these shells un- 
 harmed?" 
 
 "Save enough powder to make a handful of 
 cartridges in case I could patch up my gun, and 
 then with the rest mine the gate over the moat." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes! Do you think I would let any Ger- 
 man force me to take to the highroad a second 
 time to escape him? Not much! If ever they 
 were to break through and reach this place 
 again they might start over our bridge, but I'll 
 bet you not many of them would arrive whole 
 inside the gate. I might have to go up in 
 the air with them, but a hundred to one is a 
 pretty good proposition." 
 
 All this was said without the slightest trace of 
 boasting either in the lad's speech or manner, 
 [27] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and proved to me how deeply even this care- 
 free, lighthearted boy had been impressed by 
 the savage vandalism of the Prussians. 
 
 Gently then did I try to persuade him that 
 it were better to leave such thoughts of re- 
 venge in more competent hands, and I was 
 about to propose that an isolated barn would 
 be an excellent place for trophy museums in 
 general, black powder and unexploded shells 
 in particular, when a cry of joy arising from 
 the kitchen sent us hurrying in that direction. 
 
 "Madame, Madame", called Yvonne and 
 Nini. "They've come back ! they've come back !" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Emile and Leon." 
 
 Through the doorway I caught sight of the 
 two lads who had left us at Melun to enlist in 
 the army. Ragged and footsore, thin as rails 
 but beaming with joy at our cordial welcome, 
 the tired travellers stalked in. 
 
 "How did you come? Why didn't they take 
 you? What's the latest news?" were only a 
 few of the numerous questions that were hurled 
 at them in a breath. 
 
 And from their replies I gathered that they 
 had been sent from Fontainebleau to Orleans 
 [28] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 (at their own expense) to a recruiting station. 
 Once there, so many were the applicants that 
 they had to wait two days in line. Board and 
 lodging had quickly consumed the meagre sum 
 they possessed between them, and when finally 
 their turn came they were refused because they 
 had no papers, no way of identifying them- 
 selves. So empty handed, they had started 
 home on foot, a distance of about one hundred 
 and eighty miles, and from the way they par- 
 took of our dry bread and unsweetened stewed 
 fruit I judged they had not fared too well dur- 
 ing their hike. In the midst of their story 
 which bid fair to be interminable, George car- 
 ried them off to his trophy room, and through 
 the partition I could hear vigorous exclama- 
 tions of delight and admiration. 
 
 The following day a member of the Engi- 
 neer Corps who had been sent out to explore 
 the fields and set off any unexploded shells, 
 called on me and in the course of his conversa- 
 tion expressed his surprise that so few projec- 
 tiles had been found in our immediate vicinity. 
 I smiled and led him to the old bam. 
 
 " Je comprends" was all he said. 
 
 I had not the heart to hand the trophies all 
 [29] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 over to him without first telling George. The 
 boy took the news like a man and promised to 
 deliver them the following morning. And 
 though I have never questioned him I have a 
 feeling that years hence we will unearth in some 
 obscure corner a German helmet or shell, rem- 
 nants of his collector's mania. 
 
 Nor were Teuton relics the only kind to 
 be had in our neighbourhood. Every once in a 
 while the boys who spent each available mo- 
 ment in the garden, would come in bearing 
 some souvenir of the passing Moroccan troops, 
 some reminder of the British occupation. 
 Among others was a package of letters mailed 
 to a gunner in the Royal Artillery and found 
 scattered on the floor of the greenhouse. Each 
 envelope was addressed in a clear, upright fem- 
 inine hand, and on the back where the flap 
 closes were numerous little crosses, tokens of 
 affection such as, when children, we used to 
 put at the conclusion of letters to our parents. 
 Poor little missives ; how had they come there ? 
 Why had they not been delivered? What was 
 I to do with them? 
 
 At the extreme end of the driveway I could 
 hear Johnny Poupard and his brother trotting 
 [30] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 down the highroad calling "Une auto! Deux 
 autos! Des officiers! They're stopping!" 
 
 I put the letters in my apron pocket. An 
 automobile? Officers? Anything come from 
 the outside world was an event and was hailed 
 by loud verbal acclamations from any individ- 
 ual who happened to be on the spot. By the 
 time I reached the gate I could see quite a 
 group had gathered around four large open 
 motors that were slowly winding their way 
 down the village street, and two breathless 
 peasant boys came running toward us. 
 
 "They're English", they panted. "Come 
 quick, do! Perhaps you can understand 
 them." 
 
 I hurried across the moat just as the motors 
 pulled up to the gate. A British Captain 
 jumped from the front seat. 
 
 "Could you tell us the shortest road to 
 Paris?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 And as I explained all the officers in the cars 
 sat forward in their seats at hearing their native 
 tongue spoken so fluently. As I talked my 
 eyes took in every detail and from their uni- 
 forms I realised that I had to do with the 
 [31] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 British General Staff. When I had finished 
 the Captain thanked me. 
 
 "You don't belong here, do you?" 
 
 "Yes. I am the chatelaine' 3 
 
 As I said this I thought how little my attire 
 bore out my statement, for I was wearing a 
 faded crimson sweater and a soiled velveteen 
 bicycle skirt, the only things I possessed. But 
 to add to my embarrassment, when I looked 
 down I found that in my haste I had come out 
 with a filthy dust cloth in my hand. I put it 
 quickly behind my back. The Captain saw my 
 movement and smiled. I smiled too. 
 
 "You didn't stay here during the invasion?" 
 
 "No, I managed to get away the night be- 
 fore they came in." 
 
 "I thought so. Because I was with the Brit- 
 ish when they drove them out of here. It was 
 pouring with rain and we hoped to find shelter 
 in your house, but Lord! the filth in the 
 place! We preferred sleeping in the wet. I 
 see you have a hospital now." 
 
 "No, not yet, but we are expecting one." 
 
 "Who did the cleaning up?" 
 
 "We did." 
 
 "I congratulate you." 
 [32] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 He might have added "You look it," but he 
 was too well bred. 
 
 "Didn't leave you much, did they?" 
 
 "Not much, but enough to offer you gentle- 
 men a cup of English tea if you don't mind the 
 absence of linen." As I said that the officer in 
 the further corner of the second motor removed 
 his goggles and I recognised General Sir John 
 French. 
 
 "Thank you for your courtesy", he said. 
 "But I fear we are a little late now. Is there 
 anything we can do for you?" 
 
 "No thank you, unless — " 
 
 "Unless?" ' 
 
 "Unless you would care to see that these 
 letters are turned over to proper authorities", 
 said I fumbling in my pocket. "I have no way 
 of delivering them." 
 
 "Certainly, with pleasure. Anything fur- 
 ther?" 
 
 "Nothing, I thank you." 
 
 "Then, gentlemen, let us be off." 
 
 And as the motor rolled away the General 
 leaned out and called back, "Just wait until 
 we get into Germany. We'll send you back 
 their loot." 
 
 [33] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 So we returned to work, encouraged by this 
 little glimpse of those in whose hands lay our 
 destiny. 
 
 Another day was absorbed by my trip to 
 Rebais where I sought and found my nurse, 
 who had been in the city to look after the 
 wounded and who had experienced many ex- 
 citing adventures at the hands of the Germans 
 who were in possession of that vicinity for a 
 week. Our tongues wagged, as only women's 
 can, all during our trip, but at dusk as we 
 passed through Charly (our market town) I 
 was astonished to see the red and green lights 
 shining forth from our pharmacy just as in 
 normal times. How strange — I thought. I 
 don't believe there is a handful of people 
 in the town. And what on earth has he to 
 sell? 
 
 But presently my curiosity was turned to 
 practicability, and imagining that pompous old 
 Monsieur Leveque had contrived in one way 
 or another to put his stock beyond the reach 
 of the invader I resolved to investigate as soon 
 as possible in order to lay in a few necessities 
 for our hospital. 
 
 [34] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 As I approached his shop the next morning, 
 I noticed that the plate glass window was one 
 mass of cracks, the whole thing holding to- 
 gether by long strips of adhesive plaster and 
 the Grace of the Almighty. A hand printed 
 sign which read as follows, was neatly pinned 
 in the centre of the pane : — 
 
 "Monsieur Le Pharmacien Leveque has the 
 honour of informing his numerous customers 
 that he is in measure to respond to their de- 
 mands and that business will continue as usual." 
 
 "Bon jour, Monsieur Leveque" 
 
 "Madame, j J ai Vhonneur de vous saluer" 
 
 "How fortunate to have been able to save 
 your stock. Will you kindly give me as much 
 tincture of iodine, peroxide, and absorbent cot- 
 ton as you can spare?" 
 
 "Madame, none of these articles is available 
 at present." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 "No, and it may be quite a while before I 
 shall be able to procure them. May I take your 
 order?" 
 
 I thanked him and shook my head. I should 
 have come sooner, thought I — he has been 
 bought out. I continued reading down the 
 [35] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 long list Madame Guix had prepared. As I 
 mentioned each and every article the old man 
 waxed eloquent on the particular reason for 
 which the medicament had been carried off in 
 entirety. 
 
 "Then if I were not presuming, might I 
 inquire what you have 'for sale?" 
 
 "What they left me; liver pills, Hunyadi 
 Water, and a little bit of magnesia." 
 
 I couldn't help smiling. Monsieur Leveque 
 frowned. 
 
 "But why do you bother to keep open, espe- 
 cially in the evening?" 
 
 "Because some one might need liver pills and 
 Hunyadi Water and it would not be honest to 
 deprive them, and besides it is the duty of 
 every pharmacist to stick to his post to the 
 last!" 
 
 Evidently Monsieur Leveque had been much 
 impressed by the conception of his own brav- 
 ery. He had launched that long-thought-out 
 finishing phrase regardless of how appropriate 
 it might be. I was apparently the first one 
 on whom he had occasion to try it. How 
 awful should it have been wasted! I appre- 
 ciated his sentiments but they did not help my 
 [36] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 hospital work a bit. So during the succeed- 
 ing afternoons Madame Guix and I spent 
 our time driving about in our old farm cart, 
 knocking at the door of every inhabited cot- 
 tage begging the peasants to lend us a bed, 
 a mattress, a sheet or two, if they still possessed 
 any, to swell the number of patients our hos- 
 pital was listed to receive. 
 
 It was not so simple a matter as one might 
 imagine, for under the circumstances, the peas- 
 ant could not "give", he could only "lend"; 
 in most cases the bed or its furnishings be- 
 longed to a son or husband absent fighting for 
 his country. Each article had to be marked 
 and a form of receipt given to its owner and 
 then they were carefully piled into the back 
 of our trap that was drawn by my twenty-one- 
 year-old nag. 
 
 We were returning from one of these ex- 
 peditions when on reaching the home road late 
 one afternoon we heard the tramp of feet and 
 excited voices calling; "Des Bodies! Des 
 Bochesr 
 
 Germans? Where? How? 
 
 I whipped up Cesar and coming around the 
 curve we caught sight of three German prison- 
 [37] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ers stalking down the street between our Gen- 
 darmes. 
 
 Long, lean, lank ; gaunt, graceless and glum 
 — what a hideous spectacle these three defence- 
 less human beings presented. One of them 
 was apparently so weak that he had to be sup- 
 ported by the Gendarmes and the excitement 
 caused by their arrival was evidenced from the 
 number of people that appeared upon the 
 scene, sprung up as though by magic. Yet 
 there was no noise, no confusion, much less 
 hostile demonstration of any kind. They were 
 a curiosity, that was all. 
 
 "Where did you get them?" I queried of the 
 Gendarme when we had come within speaking 
 distance. The little column halted in front of 
 a tiny grocery shop and the weak lad (he 
 couldn't have been more than nineteen or 
 twenty) seemed grateful for the pause. He 
 was almost panting. 
 
 The crowd gathered about them. 
 
 "Rounded them up in the woods. They are 
 scouts. Got lost during the retreat and have 
 been in hiding for three weeks. God knows on 
 what they have been living." 
 
 "But one of them is very weak. Aren't you 
 [38] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 afraid he will collapse before you get to 
 Charly? It is three miles from here." 
 
 The words were barely out of my mouth ere 
 the pale youth lurched forward. The crowd 
 parted and he sank down in a heap. 
 
 "He has fainted", I called. "Stretch him 
 out and run for some water." 
 
 The group stood spellbound, helpless. One 
 old peasant shrugged his shoulders and turning 
 on his heel walked away. 
 
 "We can't let him die like a dog, even if he 
 is a German", grunted the store-keeper as she 
 stepped indoors. 
 
 "He is hungry, they're all hungry, dying of 
 hunger", I explained as I elbowed my way 
 through the crowd. "Here, catch hold of him, 
 some one. We cannot let him lie in the dust. 
 Move him indoors." 
 
 The spell was broken. Twenty hands 
 stretched forward and we lifted him onto the 
 floor of the store. The proprietress came up 
 with a glass of water. A moment later some 
 one had brought in a flask of brandy. 
 
 "I'll take care of this one, but how about the 
 other two?" 
 
 The women looked askance at each other. 
 [39] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Tant pis! 'tfy vais 3 \ said one, and the 
 store-keeper echoed her sentiments. A second 
 later she appeared with a steaming bowl in her 
 hands. 
 
 Heaven knows it was little enough she had 
 to offer; a plate of soup and a crust of bread, 
 but as long as I live I shall never forget the 
 light in those men's eyes when the great nine 
 pound loaf was placed on to the table. Pray 
 God I may never see it again. They fell to 
 with a greed that was appalling, even the weak 
 one. The very smell of the soup seemed to 
 revive them. 
 
 When I felt they were a bit restored, I put 
 a few questions in broken German. 
 
 "Not Prussians! Not Prussians!", they 
 fairly shouted in chorus. "Bavarians!" 
 
 I wonder what particular torture they 
 thought we held in store for their compatriots 
 of the North. From a word now and then I 
 gathered we had guessed correctly. They had 
 got lost during retreat and had been in hiding 
 for three weeks, eating only raw beets and 
 turnips, licking the dew from the leaves to 
 quench their thirst. 
 
 By the time the soup had disappeared, boiled 
 [40 1 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 potatoes, baked apples and a bottle of white 
 wine had been brought in, and I left them to the 
 tender mercies of the Gendarmes who for once 
 fell short of their reputation for severity. 
 
 "Don't ever let Poupard know I brought 
 that wine", whispered Mother P. as together 
 we walked homeward. "I'd never hear the end 
 of it. But our boy's out there righting too and 
 I couldn't bear to think he'd ever come to want 
 because he was an enemy." 
 
 [41] 
 
II 
 
 On the fifteenth day of October, at a little 
 after eleven in the morning an army supply 
 waggon with tightly drawn and buckled cur- 
 tains rattled down the main street of Villiers 
 and drew up in front of the chateau. The noise 
 and the large red cross painted on either side 
 of the cover, attracted the attention of a score 
 of peasant women, who imagining the wounded 
 were arriving at our hospital, hastened down 
 the street and stood gaping in the roadway 
 awaiting the pleasure of a red-headed driver 
 who calmly prepared to leave his seat and make 
 known the contents of his cart. 
 
 By the time I had come downstairs and 
 gained the entrance hall excitement had 
 reached concert pitch, and when I stepped out- 
 doors I was confronted by an awe stricken 
 group of people silently elbowing each other 
 and craning their necks to get a better view. 
 
 The driver leisurely rolled up his sleeves, 
 moistened his hands in a most inelegant 
 manner, parted the curtains and disclosed four 
 [42] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 wooden boxes containing pharmaceutical sup- 
 plies and a half dozen soldiers knapsacks. 
 That was all. 
 
 Disappointment was audibly expressed and 
 he of the fiery whiskers after having calmly de- 
 posited his goods on the lowest step was mak- 
 ing ready for immediate departure when I ac- 
 costed him. 
 
 "I say driver, are the wounded on the way?" 
 
 "What wounded?" 
 
 "The men to whom those sacks belong. The 
 soldiers we are expecting." 
 
 "Don't ask me, how should I know?" 
 
 "But I thought perhaps — " 
 
 He interrupted me. 
 
 "In my metier what's the use of thinking? 
 None ! You do what you're told, un point, c'est 
 toutr 
 
 But evidently his metier had nothing to do 
 with bridling of vocabulary, and my questions 
 had set him going. A good quarter of an hour 
 later I left him in the midst of a dissertation on 
 military grandeur and servitude, and the dis- 
 appointed peasants were surely well repaid for 
 their trouble if words count for aught. 
 
 His eloquence was interrupted by the even 
 [43] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 tramp of feet and hastily buttoning his coat he 
 whipped up his nags and departed just as some 
 soldiers headed by a Sergeant turned into the 
 drive. This time it was the real thing, and 
 from an upper window I watched Madame 
 Guix greet our Sergeant-Inflrmier and his four 
 assistants. 
 
 They certainly were a weird looking quintet : 
 beginning with Sergeant Godec himself, 
 round ruddy, middle-aged, almost bursting in 
 his uniform, his well waxed mustache giving 
 his face the appearance of bristling with im- 
 portance. 
 
 He drew his men up to "Attention" with a 
 voice that could have been heard above the roar 
 of a dozen nearby guns, and then saluting my 
 nurse awaited her orders. A second later, 
 "Break ranks", he shouted in stentorian tones. 
 The command was hardly necessary for even at 
 "Attention" the quartet of men from the 
 "Service Auxiliare" was the most unmilitary 
 looking unit I had ever perceived, in fact as I 
 gazed at them I could not repress a smile. 
 
 On one end stood a great, gaping blonde 
 headed fellow, his hands which strangely re- 
 sembled shoulders of mutton hanging at his 
 [44] 
 
^;'* "" : 4i*' 
 
 P^f! 
 
 ' ""\i-2 
 
 THE RETREAT FROM CHARLEROT TO THE MARNE 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 sides, his mouth open, his eyes vacantly star- 
 ing at six columns of smoke that were rising 
 from as many chimneys of the chateau. Next 
 to him was a dark, tight featured peasant 
 whose ambling gait had attracted my attention 
 as he slouched rather than walked up the 
 avenue. In fact one could not tell whether he 
 was tall or short so elastic were his move- 
 ments. 
 
 Third from the end was a genial looking chap 
 with clear blue eyes and a kindly smile, and last 
 but not least, was a nervous little fellow who 
 was struggling with innumerable packages 
 that were hung about his person with several 
 different bits of string. Every movement he 
 made to disentangle himself only complicated 
 the situation which was already none too simple 
 when one considers that he was terribly near 
 sighted, and the perspiration which trickled 
 from his nose made the latter so slippery that it 
 refused to hold a pair of gold circled pince-nez 
 that were attached by a flowing gros grain 
 ribbon. 
 
 After a moment's parley the whole group 
 moved towards the refectory where they 
 quickly made acquaintance with George and 
 [45] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Leon who showed them to their quarters and 
 bid them make ready for luncheon which was 
 but half an hour distant : it was useless to think 
 of beginning any new job before. 
 
 During our meal my nurse and I made ver- 
 bal note of all the tasks which needed masculine 
 attention and decided that we would commence 
 by scraping and polishing the floor of one of 
 the wards where our feeble efforts had as yet 
 been unsuccessful. We lingered a trifle longer 
 than usual over our brief repast to give the men 
 time to get accustomed to their new surround- 
 ings and at one o'clock sharp Madame Guix 
 departed to give her orders. It seemed to me 
 I had hardly had time to fold my serviette ere 
 she reappeared out of breath with eyes as big 
 as two franc pieces. 
 
 "Madame Huard, they've gone!" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "The soldiers!" 
 
 "What nonsense. Gone where?" 
 
 "Disappeared, evaporated! I can't find a 
 trace of them." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I am not joking, I have looked all over for 
 them." 
 
 [46] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Did you ask Julie?" 
 
 "Yes, she says they bolted their luncheon 
 and then followed George and Leon out 
 toward the barn. That's the last anyone saw of 
 them. They're not there now, I have just come 
 from there." 
 
 "Well, don't let's worry, they will turn up in 
 a few minutes. If they don't we'll ring the 
 farm bell for our boys." 
 
 A quarter, then half an hour slipped by as we 
 busied ourselves around the house, and at ten 
 minutes before two when I looked at my watch 
 no soldiers had yet reported for duty. 
 
 The farm bell was rung, the emergency call, 
 but as Nini pulled it I observed that the wind 
 was due East, in consequence carrying the 
 sound away from our property. 
 
 To organize a searching party in quest of 
 five soldiers and a couple of farm boys, lost in 
 some of the numerous buildings dotted all over 
 my one hundred and eighty acres of ground, 
 would not only have been fatiguing, but ludi- 
 crous. That idea was abandoned at once, and 
 I sent Nini on a bicycle down as far as the vil- 
 lage cafe to inquire if they had seen anything 
 of my boys. The idea that perhaps they had 
 [47] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 all decided to clinch their friendship in a drop 
 of wine seemed feasible. 
 
 Nini returned with a negative reply. 
 
 Madame Guix and I looked askance of one 
 another and then laughed. The situation was 
 too ridiculous. 
 
 We went to work on our floor and so earnest 
 were we that the short afternoon wore away in 
 no time, and at half past four we had forgotten 
 that the chateau had once been the proud pos- 
 sessor of four orderlies and a sergeant. 
 
 We were mopping our brows and taking a 
 second's breathing space when Nini, whom I 
 had sent to Tresnel in search of a few fresh 
 eggs, broke in upon us, all excitement. 
 
 "Madame — Madame Guix — the soldiers — 
 George and Leon — they're all up on the hill 
 bagging rabbits. I saw them as I passed from 
 the road, and on my way home Father Pou- 
 pard came out of his yard grumbling about its 
 getting dark and it was time they brought back 
 his ferret." 
 
 I sat down on a chair and laughed until I 
 cried. Here were five serious minded orderlies 
 sent out to prepare beds for their suffering fel- 
 low men and the idea of a rabbit hunt, "La 
 [48] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 chasse" so dear to the heart of Frenchmen 
 had completely obliterated all conception of 
 war, militarism and duty. Even the prospect 
 of ten days in the guard-house apparently held 
 no terrors. It was so human that it was 
 really pathetic. But my companion whose legs 
 and arms must have ached as did mine from our 
 exhausting labor, did not see the amusing side 
 of the situation. After wiping her face and 
 straightening her cap she left the room and a 
 second later I could hear her footsteps crushing 
 the dead leaves in the long alley leading 
 towards the rond-point. 
 
 I followed in her wake, but stopped when I 
 saw that she had come up with the hunting 
 party, triumphantly returning home with the 
 spoils of their afternoon wriggling in two 
 laundry bags. 
 
 Madame Guix took the sergeant aside. I 
 was beyond earshot, so what she said to him I 
 never heard. He hung his head and looked 
 very sheepish all the while. A moment later 
 he called his men to "Attention" and then man- 
 like proceeded to wreak on them the vengeance 
 that had just fallen to his lot. 
 
 Twenty minutes later there was such a 
 [49] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 grating and scraping in that ward that I feared 
 lest nothing of the floor be left to polish, and 
 poking my head in I caught sight of Sergeant 
 Godec in the middle of the room a long lithe 
 branch in his hand, proudly surveying his men- 
 ials, who on their knees were humbly obeying 
 his orders to scrape "Tons ensemble et en 
 mesure" , under penalty of having the military 
 code as constant diet for the next w T eek to come. 
 
 Supper was a mute meal and the entire 
 Corps d'infirmiers instead of retiring at once 
 burned much of my precious kerosene appar- 
 ently applying themselves to some arduous 
 task that was accomplished by the aid of pen, 
 ink and paper on the long table in the refectory. 
 
 At nine o'clock we rang Le coucher and 
 five minutes later the only sound that broke the 
 complete silence of the night was the screeching 
 of an owl and now and again the booming of a 
 distant gun. 
 
 The next morning I discovered that every 
 corridor in the entire chateau had blossomed 
 forth with the intricately printed signs stating 
 distances and directions and forbidding every- 
 thing under the sun. Defense de ftdner dans 
 ce couloir — Defense de cracker par terre — 
 [50] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Heures des repas—Reglement de la chambre 
 — Enough rules to make any sick man want to 
 lie down and die at once. All of which had 
 been carefully compiled by Sergeant Godec 
 and faithfully executed by his slaves who had 
 been so lax as to have nearly permitted him to 
 fall from grace. 
 
 A telephone call from Headquarters at Cha- 
 teau-Thierry announced that ten occupants for 
 our beds would come down by a military train 
 as far as our station, from whence the supply 
 waggon would transport all it could hold to our 
 door, making as many trips as necessary unless 
 I had some means of conveyance to offer. 
 There had been some difficulty in finding a 
 doctor — they hoped to have one on the way by 
 the time the men arrived. 
 
 Here was news indeed, and when I an- 
 nounced that our battered coupe would be sent 
 down to Nogent to bring up the men, George 
 and Leon nearly came to blows trying to de- 
 cide who should have the honour of driving the 
 first load. 
 
 And so they arrived; six in the van, four in 
 the coupe. 
 
 [51] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 It was something of a disappointment and a 
 great relief to find that they were not wounded 
 heroes. Illness was much less appalling under 
 the circumstances. Some were coughing, some 
 limping with rheumatism, while others showed 
 no external signs of malady other than a 
 strange brightness in the eyes, a dark furrow on 
 their cheeks. 
 
 For a second they stood there helpless in the 
 marble paved vestibule, tenderly clinging to 
 their guns and cartridge cases as though loathe 
 to give them up, their mud-stained uniforms 
 and boots sadly betokening their inability to do 
 anything that required a physical effort. 
 
 We quickly put them at ease, leading them 
 into the drawing-room, converted into a ward, 
 where a cheerful fire welcomed them to its 
 hearth. They clustered about it and willingly 
 drank long draughts of linden flower tea, yet 
 even the warmth and soothing beverage did not 
 loosen their tongues. I was at loss to know 
 what to do to cheer them. 
 
 Presently the sergeant appeared, pen in 
 hand, and one or two made an effort to strug- 
 gle into line. I said it was not necessary and 
 he proceeded to take the names, addresses, regi- 
 [52] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ment numbers, etc., terminating with the illness 
 for which they had been evacuated. These pro- 
 ceedings brought to light the fact that my 
 guests were almost all from the northwestern 
 part of France, country then, as now, in the 
 hands of the enemy. And their illnesses 
 proved to be rheumatism, asthma, bronchitis, 
 dysentery. Apparently none of these was 
 chronic, but in the absence of any medical 
 authority Madame Guix and I decided that 
 bath and bed were very good prescriptions on 
 general principle, and in spite of several looks 
 of protest, the order was given and the sergeant 
 stayed to see that it was executed. 
 
 An hour later a double row of mummies 
 lined my drawing-room and as I entered I 
 heard an exclamation that went straight to my 
 heart — 
 
 "O, God! no draughts and a real hot water 
 bottle!" 
 
 Orders were given that no one was to get up 
 until after inspection the following morning, 
 and when I made my appearance I found the 
 infirmiers hurrying through the corridors 
 bearing bread, butter and hot coffee on impro- 
 vised trays. Their fatigue costume was the 
 [53] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 funniest thing imaginable, for having cast aside 
 their long military top-coats and boots, they 
 had donned the queerest looking civilian togs 
 which together with the red trousers of their 
 uniforms made their appearance most ludi- 
 crous. 
 
 The man with the goldrimmed glasses who 
 caused me so much amusement on his arrival 
 was certainly a poem to behold. He had re- 
 placed his army jacket by a long-tailed, shiny 
 seamed, black frock coat buttoned right tight 
 up to his neck, around which was tied a varie- 
 gated bandanna handkerchief. The dark blue 
 bonnet de police tipped jauntily over one 
 ear, a pair of soiled white canvas sneakers and 
 a checked gingham apron completed this 
 extraordinary costume. 
 
 "Ohe — la petite Jaquette" , called one of the 
 patients, beckoning him as he entered the room. 
 
 "Oui, c'est cat la petite jaquette" called all 
 the others quick to grasp the humour of the sit- 
 uation. 
 
 It was thus he was christened, and "Petite 
 Jaquette" he remained as long as he was with 
 us. In fact no one ever realized he had an- 
 other name. 
 
 [54] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Breakfast disposed of, the sergeant pre- 
 sented me with the first daily bulletin, a master- 
 piece of penmanship and rhetoric, which in- 
 formed me that we had eleven patients and 
 three orderlies. I lifted my eyes in inquiry. 
 
 "Quite correct, Madame", was the immedi- 
 ate reply. 
 
 "But your fourth man seemed all right yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "He was. But this morning he cannot get 
 out of bed. He has got bad varicose veins." 
 
 "I understand, overwork no doubt?" said I 
 glancing at the smoothly polished floor. 
 
 "Quite correct, Madame," was the rigid 
 reply. 
 
 What an excellent beginning — thought I — 
 especially as we have no doctor ; and what was 
 more, no way of ascertaining how soon one 
 would appear. Headquarters could communi- 
 cate with us by telephone, but as we had no 
 officers as yet, we had no authority to com- 
 municate with them. 
 
 By ten o'clock the men were clamouring to 
 
 get up, and since they felt so inclined we saw no 
 
 reason why they should be made miserable. 
 
 So all save two who had a slight temperature 
 
 [55] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 arose and after carefully shaking up and mak- 
 ing their beds gazed wistfully out of the win- 
 dow onto a cold drizzling rain that had set in. 
 I quickly provided pen, ink and paper of which 
 I had been fortunate enough to procure a stock 
 while in Rebais, and manna in the desert was 
 certainly not received more gratefully. Each 
 one seized this first opportunity to send his 
 exact address to loved ones behind the lines ; to 
 say that it was Rien de grave that had brought 
 him for a moment's respite beyond the reach of 
 the enemy's guns. 
 
 It was during that first morning that I re- 
 ceived a visit from an inspection officer, who 
 seeing our hospital flag came in for a word with 
 the "Medecin-Chef". Great was his astonish- 
 ment when I informed him that we had none, 
 in spite of the fact that ten beds were already 
 occupied. From his attitude I could see that 
 trouble was brewing. 
 
 "There must be an error", he explained. 
 "Those men were never destined for you; it 
 would be far better to send them further on to 
 another hospital. I will go down to the sta- 
 tion and make arrangements to have the cart 
 come and get them at once unless we can make 
 [56] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 arrangements to get a doctor in here by night- 
 fall; headquarters has blundered. It is 
 nothing." And noting all this in a small leather 
 book he departed leaving me feeling decidedly 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Visions of my hospital being closed through 
 misunderstanding; of these poor tired fellows 
 being jogged in another direction just as they 
 thought they were going to get a little rest, 
 kindled my anger and made me resolved to find 
 the doctor before nightfall or perish in the at- 
 tempt. 
 
 I took Madame Guix into my confidence and 
 we decided to alarm no one but quickly make 
 our resolutions and act on them immediately. 
 The telephone was useless. Communication 
 with headquarters would only lead to complica- 
 tions. There were just two courses left. One 
 was to drive to La-Ferte-sous-Jouarre, twelve 
 miles south where I knew there was a big san- 
 itary formation, already full to overflowing, so 
 there was no danger of their wanting our men. 
 But here we could get a doctor who might pos- 
 sibly consent to pay the necessary visit, thereby 
 proving our efficiency, saving the situation, and 
 giving Headquarters time to redeem itself. 
 [57] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The second plan was to go down to Charly 
 and throw ourselves on the mercy of an elderly 
 civilian doctor, the avowed enemy of the 
 medecin militaire who had been left with 
 no less than fifty-four townships to look after 
 through the mobilising of his confreres. He 
 spent most of his time, therefore, on the high- 
 road drawn by a knock-kneed, bony old horse 
 in the only conveyance the military requisitions 
 had left him — a queer high-wheeled buggy that 
 could be heard rattling miles off. 
 
 Madame Guix chose the mission to La Ferte, 
 and she and George departed in one direc- 
 tion with old Cesar, leaving me to tramp down 
 to Charly in a weird frame of mind. It was 
 rather a delicate thing to ask a favour of this 
 tired old physician whom up to now I had ig- 
 nored, giving preference to a much younger 
 and more brilliant colleague every time I had 
 had need of medical assistance before the war. 
 Doctor Veru had little by little lost his practice 
 and until August, 1914, spent most of his de- 
 clining years compiling a literary masterpiece 
 which was destined to refute a much talked of 
 thesis on the folly of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 Doubt seized me as I rang his bell. I stood 
 [58] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 little or no chance of finding him home. I 
 stammered something to Madame Veru who 
 opened the door and didn't seem the least sur- 
 prised at my visit. Yes, the doctor was visible ; 
 would be down in just a moment. 
 
 My story was brief and I was most fortunate 
 in finding the doctor in excellent humour. He 
 not only saw my embarrassment but was so 
 anxious to save me any further ennui that half 
 an hour later found us in my drawing-room 
 with my shirtless patients standing at the foot 
 of their beds awaiting medical inspection. 
 
 "Nothing really serious, Madame," was the 
 verdict he pronounced. "A little cupping, 
 some tincture of iodine, and plenty of rest." 
 The sergeant had taken notes. 
 
 "No special diet, doctor?" 
 
 "Plenty of clean, wholesome food, that's all. 
 I will call to-morrow and see if anything has 
 developed. Good-bye, Madame." 
 
 I tried to thank him but he turned a deaf ear. 
 I stood on the door sill watching him drive 
 away, and by the time he turned the corner a 
 military motor with Madame Guix in the seat 
 of honour swung into the yard. Then she 
 too had been successful ! 
 
 [59] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I dashed indoors calling loudly for the ser- 
 geant. He appeared. 
 
 "Tell your men if they want to stay here, to 
 make ready for medical inspection and to hold 
 their tongues ! Vite, viteT I called. 
 
 The fellow looked at nie as though I had sud- 
 denly lost my mind. 
 
 "Do what I tell you and lose no time. Here 
 comes the military doctor." The sergeant 
 vanished. Since this man had taken the trouble 
 to come all that distance, what was the use of 
 quenching his enthusiasm, and seeming un- 
 grateful? 
 
 A stout middle-aged major entered the ves- 
 tibule, greeted me politely and proceeded at 
 once to the ward, where once again our "poilus" 
 patiently endured the ordeal of thumping and 
 listening, not a murmur rising from a single 
 mouth. 
 
 The sergeant followed in the Major's wake, 
 and Madame Guix gave every attention to in- 
 structions. 
 
 "Ilien de grave. Paint them with iodine, one 
 
 or two poultices, and give them plenty to build 
 
 them up; I'll come back day after to-morrow 
 
 unless you advise me to the contrary," and he 
 
 [60] 
 
MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 proceeded to sign a sheet which Godec held out 
 to him attesting his visit. 
 
 It was scarcely a half hour since Doctor 
 Veru had pronounced the selfsame words and 
 signed identically the same paper, yet not a 
 person in the room winked an eyelid though I 
 am sure more than I appreciated the comedy. 
 
 I accompanied the Major to the door and 
 had barely seen him out ere Nini announced 
 that two officers were waiting for me in my 
 office. 
 
 "We are the doctor and the pharmacist sent 
 to take charge of your hospital." 
 
 "Poor patients," I gasped, mentally, as the 
 idea of a third inspection raced through my 
 brain. 
 
 "Certainly, gentlemen," I said, "won't you 
 be seated? I am delighted to welcome you, I 
 am sure." 
 
 Someone rapped on the door. 
 
 "Come in," I called. Sergeant Godec en- 
 tered and saluted. 
 
 "Madame, the inspector is outside. He says 
 he has made all arrangements. . . . " 
 
 "You show the inspector your two signed 
 sheets," I cut in. "And if he wants any further 
 [61] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 information tell him to ask for an appointment 
 with the Medecin-Chef who has taken over 
 authority here. Otherwise we will consider the 
 incident closed." 
 
 The morrow brought another ten men to 
 Annexe No. 7, and Sunday night found the 
 downstairs wards almost completely full. Our 
 patients were all men of the younger classes 
 who had seen the retreat from Charleroi to the 
 Marne; the advance from the Marne to the 
 Aisne, and were most of them suffering from 
 physical breakdowns. Three days, however, 
 had done much towards making the lads feel 
 that ours was a home rather than a hospital, 
 and evening inspection became more a moment 
 to be looked forward to than dreaded. I used 
 up pints of iodine painting chests, pounds of 
 flax-seed making poultices, and the quantity 
 of tizane that was absorbed without a mur- 
 mur was most astonishing. 
 
 Our most genial inmate was a blondheaded 
 miner from the North quickly nicknamed 
 "Chou" or "Chou-Chou" and our treatment for 
 his little hacking cough was a source of amuse- 
 ment to his entire ward, all of whom were 
 [62] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 simple peasants who had never before had need 
 of care. The doctor had ordered cupping, both 
 on his chest and back, and as we had no regular 
 glasses, we were obliged to use thick kitchen 
 tumblers. The boys clustered around Chou's 
 bed to watch Madame Guix whisk the little 
 pieces of ignited cotton into the glass which was 
 promptly placed on the skin. Chou didn't 
 mind it a bit ; in fact he used to grin and treat 
 the whole thing as a partie de plaisir beg- 
 ging encore un! encore unl 
 
 The remedy not producing the desired effect 
 as rapidly as desired we were ordered to double 
 the dose and let the cups remain on longer. So 
 next evening we commenced our rounds by 
 Chou's bed and when we had visited the entire 
 wards, returned to him to remove his ven- 
 touses, only to find that he had calmly fallen 
 asleep ; dozed off with twenty cups drawing the 
 blood to the surface of his skin for nearly half 
 an hour. And what is still more astonishing is 
 the fact that we raised him up and removed 
 them all without his ever opening his eyes. 
 
 Monday morning brought consternation in 
 the kitchen for the amount of meat required 
 [63] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 staggered the two country butchers who had 
 guaranteed to scour the neighbourhood and 
 furnish us with what we desired. As to the veg- 
 etables, well, our meagre staff which had been 
 swelled by volunteers from among the village 
 women, peeled and peeled and continued 
 peeling, it seemed to me that they had never 
 finished. 
 
 A glance at the refectory told of the fam- 
 ished condition of our patients, for Sergeant 
 Godec had been obliged to pin up signs which 
 read as follows: 
 
 Don't be greedy. The dish will be 
 passed twice. the first served kindly re- 
 member there are thirty-four others to 
 
 BE FED. 
 
 Poor lads my only worry was that we out- 
 stretch our credit, for the Government allowed 
 us but thirty-six cents a day per man, and my 
 bank account was closed up tight at the Credit 
 Lyonnais, in Paris. 
 
 At first I refrained from visiting the refec- 
 tory during mealtime for fear of intimidating 
 the boys, but the peals of laughter and shouts 
 of joy that arose from that direction were so 
 [64] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 enticing that the third day I could no longer 
 resist and arrived just as Yvonne placed a 
 huge steaming platter of stew in front of Ser- 
 geant Godec. His neighbour leaned towards 
 him, sniffed the appetising aroma, then turning 
 towards his comrades exclaimed with a strange 
 huskiness in his voice — 
 
 "Boys— it's veal! ! !" 
 
 And two great tears of joy sprang from 
 his eyes and trickled down his sunburned 
 cheeks. My own grew misty as I turned 
 away. 
 
 We had been running on thus for about a 
 fortnight without anything new or startling 
 having occurred. All Saints' Day came and 
 went, followed by All Souls' Day, "le jour des 
 morts!' It had dawned in a most depressing 
 fashion with rain tinkling against the paper 
 that replaced our window panes, and the 
 mournful tolling of the church bells in memory 
 of the Faithful Departed aggravated my every 
 doubt. Alas, there were so many to pray for 
 this year, and who could tell what another day 
 might bring forth. 
 
 It was a positive relief when the bell rang 
 for supper, and I could hear the joyful voices 
 [65] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 calling through the corridors : "La soupe! La 
 sowpe! Vive la soupe!" 
 
 My nurse and I were resting a moment be- 
 fore our own meal, silently meditating in front 
 of the fire. Our reverie was short lived, how- 
 ever, for someone knocked at the door and an- 
 nounced that the widow X — from the Black 
 Farm was downstairs and wanted to see me. 
 It was urgent. 
 
 I knew of many but could think of no press- 
 ing reasons why the woman should demand me. 
 I had seen neither her nor her ten year old 
 daughter since our return after the invasion. 
 Perhaps she was short of funds. Madame 
 Guix said she would go and attend to the 
 matter. 
 
 As I passed my office on the way to supper 
 a sob attracted my attention and as I opened 
 the door I could hear Madame Guix saying, 
 "There, there, I am sure he'll go." 
 
 The haggard looking woman hastily brushed 
 the tears from her eyes and stood up. 
 
 "She says her little daughter is ill; has been 
 for some time. Wants to know if our doctor 
 won't go and see her." 
 
 "What's the trouble with her?" I asked. 
 [66] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 This brought forth new tears. 
 
 "I don't know — I don't know," sobbed the 
 woman. "O, do come, do come!" 
 
 Already well acquainted with the primitive 
 methods of caring for the ill still so prevalent 
 among the peasants in this particular district ; 
 realising that often for economy's sake med- 
 ical assistance was not summoned until too late 
 to be of any use, I judged that this case must 
 indeed be urgent. 
 
 I sought out our doctor and laid the matter 
 before him. He expressed his willingness to 
 make the visit, and the woman having refused 
 our offer of something hot to stimulate her, 
 patiently waited until we had finished our even- 
 ing meal. Then the four of us set out together, 
 leaving the pharmacist in charge of the hos- 
 pital. 
 
 What a wild night it was. The wind howled 
 most dismally through the pine trees and drove 
 the rain in sheets against our faces. We chose 
 a short cut down our avenue, and as we 
 plodded along through the layers of moist 
 leaves each footstep added another noise to the 
 tempest. There were moments when it was 
 hard to tell whether it were guns or thunder 
 [67] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 that rent the air, and as now and again we 
 would emerge into the open, I fancied I saw 
 lightning — or was it the flash of distant search- 
 lights seeking out enemy's aeroplanes ? 
 
 At the little iron gate which marks the ex- 
 treme limit of our property, we clustered to- 
 gether and I held the lantern closer to enable 
 my nurse to better insert the key. A tremen- 
 dous gust of wind that sent the frightened 
 night-birds screaming from their perches, blew 
 out the light and left us in total darkness. We 
 were now nearly a mile from the house ; it was 
 useless to think of retracing our steps. To try 
 to light a match was hopeless. There was 
 nothing to do but continue. 
 
 What a mad, ghastly tramp we had, our 
 doctor, Madame Guix and myself, following in 
 the path of that sorrow stricken mother, slip- 
 ping and sliding on the steep inclines, the noise 
 about us such as to make one wonder whether 
 God or man were not doing their utmost to 
 shatter poor old mother earth. 
 
 After nearly an hour's climb, puffing and 
 
 panting, dripping with rain and perspiration 
 
 we finally reached an isolated farmhouse. Our 
 
 guide entered first and we followed close be- 
 
 [68] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 hind to see an old white-bonneted peasant 
 woman crouching in the corner of the hearth, 
 her face lighted by the glow of the dying 
 embers. 
 
 "Mother, he's come", said Madame X — 
 rousing the dozing figure. 
 
 "God be praised, God be praised", mumbled 
 the little old woman bustling about to light a 
 candle. 
 
 "Where is the child?" asked the doctor after 
 having removed his raincoat that had covered 
 his uniform. 
 
 He followed the woman to a doorway and 
 over his shoulder I could see stretched out on 
 a humble bed a puny, emaciated child. Surely 
 her visage was familiar. Of course I knew 
 her! She had been in my catechism class that 
 year and had made her First Communion in 
 June. Could it be possible? What a change 
 had come over her! The mother bent over 
 her and gently called "Elvire, ElvL-e". At the 
 touch of her hand the child started and shiv- 
 ered. 
 
 "Elvire," called the woman, "here's the doc- 
 tor and Madame Huard. They've come to see 
 you." 
 
 [69] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The girl cast a glance in our direction, her 
 eyes falling on the doctor in uniform who stood 
 nearest her. With a wild yell she caught at the 
 covers and in one bound was in the other corner 
 of the room. 
 
 "I am afraid! I am afraid!" she shrieked. 
 "Don't come near me! don't, don't!" Her 
 little body was quaking, tortured by her spirit. 
 
 The old grandmother darted into the room 
 and seizing the doctor by the arm motioned 
 him to come away. 
 
 "Elvire," pleaded the broken-hearted mother, 
 "Elvire, he's gone." 
 
 "But he'll come back! no! no! I'm afraid, no, 
 don't let him come, don't let him touch me." 
 
 "Elvire," I called, my voice shaking with 
 horror and emotion. "Elvire, don't you re- 
 member me? Surely — Madame Huard? 
 Don't you remember how we used to sing to- 
 gether last Spring." 
 
 A queer choking sound cr,me from her 
 throat. Her eyes softened but no tears came. 
 There were none left. 
 
 Then followed the hardest moral struggle I 
 ever hope to experience; a full half hour in 
 which I sought to convince this little fear- 
 [70] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 cowed animal of my integrity. And when at 
 last I held that tiny heaving body against my 
 breast, saw the eyes close peacefully, I knew 
 that I had won a victory. 
 
 Elvire slept, slept for the first time since the 
 fifth of September. We had already guessed 
 the woeful truth but to corroborate our direst 
 suppositions, the tales of German cowardice 
 and brutality that mid tears and lamentations 
 we wrung from those grief -bowed peasant 
 women made me feel that war might pass and 
 peace might come again, but I could never 
 pardon. 
 
 [71] 
 
Ill 
 
 "Foukteen more soldiers and an Arab", 
 announced Nini as she pushed open the 
 shutters and prepared to pour the steaming 
 water into my improvised bath-tub. I rubbed 
 my eyes. What was the child saying? 
 
 "Oui, Madame — fourteen more soldiers, and 
 such a lovely Arab — he's got the military medal 
 too." 
 
 "When did they come, why didn't you wake 
 me, you knew" — 
 
 "They got here about five o'clock. The 
 Doctor gave orders not to disturb anyone. 
 They're almost all bathed.now." 
 
 Fourteen more, that made forty-four, and 
 already the butchers had encountered difficulty 
 in providing sufficient meat for thirty ! 
 
 At breakfast which consisted of coffee and 
 bread, the latter held on a long twig before the 
 flame of our dining room fire if we wished it 
 toasted — the doctor confirmed Nini's report. 
 
 There was no question of taking time even 
 to say a word of welcome to the newcomers. 
 [72] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The doctor was there to attend to their suffer- 
 ings, if they had any, and Madame Guix had 
 found a very able assistant in the person of 
 Mademoiselle Alice Foerter, saleslady in one 
 of the big shops on the Avenue de 1' Opera, and 
 whom the invasion had surprised spending her 
 vacation with her parents at Villiers. 
 
 When suddenly overnight one finds one's 
 family augmented by fourteen hungry mouths, 
 there is only one thing left to do — hustle! 
 
 I gulped my coffee and started down the 
 kitchen corridor. Suddenly at the other ex- 
 tremity the door opened and an unfamiliar 
 military figure wearing the red cloth bloomers 
 of a Zouave, emerged from the culinary re- 
 gions. His face was unknown to me, but in a 
 twinkling my eye had recognised the topcoat 
 of an artilleryman, and the Alpine soldiers' 
 bonnet! High in the air above his head, bal- 
 anced on one hand was a tray full of dishes. 
 
 I was surely more disconcerted than he, for 
 he continued his approach, and as he drew up 
 to me made a most dramatic pirouette, saluted 
 and said — 
 
 "Lambert, the new orderly — at your service, 
 Madame." 
 
 [73] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I murmured a word of welcome, and for 
 want of something better to say asked him to 
 what branch of the service he belonged. 
 
 "The Light Infantry, Madame", he replied, 
 continuing his way. 
 
 If he had said the "Kaiser's personal suite", 
 I shouldn't have been more astonished — for 
 nothing about his bearing or uniform betok- 
 ened in the slightest degree, the service he had 
 mentioned. 
 
 Some poor, harmless lunatic — I'd find out 
 more about him later on: just at present it was 
 luncheon that was worrying us. 
 
 A few days before it had been an easy thing 
 to solve the food problem, but added to our 
 troubles of the moment was the rapid disap- 
 pearance of the little coal that remained in my 
 bunkers, after the invasion, and which our large 
 kitchen range was now consuming with alarm- 
 ing celerity. For this there was but one thing 
 to be done, admonish those in charge to "Go 
 easy" — and then set about getting someone to 
 saw wood into several even lengths — because, 
 once our coal supply exhausted there was no 
 way of its being replenished. Even in peace 
 times it had to come by rail to Nogent — eight 
 [74] 
 
AMED-BEN-MOH-AMED, NINl's ARAB, WHO 
 BELONGED TO Ol H MOROCCAN TROOPS 
 
MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 miles away — and at present there was no rail- 
 way — at least for civilian, or even hospital 
 needs. Heaven help us if it ever grew cold 
 enough to need a furnace ! 
 
 As to the food supply it was now a question 
 of canvassing the whole outlying vicinity — of 
 getting not only our own, but butchers as far as 
 fifteen miles the round, to help swell our ra- 
 tions. This was doubly difficult because in 
 most cases the butchers themselves were at the 
 front and had left only their wives to replace 
 them. To their lot then fell the procuring, the 
 killing, the actual chopping up and delivery — 
 a heroic job when one considers that there 
 wasn't a single horse under twenty years of 
 age left to haul the carts that could be impro- 
 vised — and doubly meritorious when there 
 were young children to be looked after. 
 
 It was raining, as usual, a nasty cold drizzle 
 that discouraged one from the star** I fancy 
 one never really gets accustomed to paddling 
 about in heavy wooden sabots, or having one's 
 every covering permeated almost immediately 
 one stirs abroad. It was like living in an 
 aquarium. Nevertheless it had to be braved, 
 and I spent that and a number of the following 
 [75] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 mornings arranging a regular daily routine, 
 which if carried out as promised would save 
 further complications. 
 
 It was not until after luncheon that I made 
 the acquaintance of the latest arrivals, who 
 occupied a ward on the first floor. In such 
 cases there can be no introduction, one merely 
 passes from bed to bed, with a word of encour- 
 agement for each and every newcomer, and 
 later on the perusal of the sergeant's sheet tells 
 from whence they hail, and what is their calling. 
 During the entire time the Chateau de Villiers 
 functioned as a hospital we never had a patient 
 of culture or refinement ; ours were children of 
 the soil — and it is constant contact with such 
 souls as theirs that gives one an insight to the 
 heretofore undreamed of qualities of the 
 French race. 
 
 In all the long dreary months during which 
 hundreds of these humble, uncouth peasants 
 who ranged from eighteen to fifty years of age, 
 came and went from my home; mid their suf- 
 ferings ar i joys, I never heard a vulgar oath, 
 an unkind word, and yet I knew that with us 
 they felt they were under no restraint. 
 
 Of the men who composed the upstairs ward, 
 [76] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 those whom I recall the best were Amed-ben- 
 Mohamed, Nini's Arab, who belonged to our 
 Moroccan troops, and Lambert, he of the 
 Zouave bloomers — who evacuated for chronic 
 asthma, had elected the kitchen as the best place 
 to proceed with his cure. Besides, what could 
 the Doctor say — a Red-Cross sleeve band 
 which was the chief adornment of his extraor- 
 dinary uniform, and which I forgot to mention, 
 stamped him as stretcher-bearer on the battle- 
 field, orderly in a hospital — and pray where 
 was the proper place for any self-respecting 
 orderly if not in the kitchen ! 
 
 Our doctor closed his eyes a trifle to such 
 proceedings. We were in need of all the help 
 we could get — and 9ny voluntary assistance in 
 the matter of carrying trays and washing 
 dishes was not to be discouraged. 
 
 Amed-ben-Mohamed, quickly dubbed "Sidi" 
 — whose entire French vocabulary consisted of 
 three words — Boche, salaud, capoute — had 
 some little difficulty in explaining to our doctor 
 for just what reason he had been evacuated. 
 Fever, he certainly had — but not sufficient to 
 prevent him from raising himself on his elbow 
 and leisurely smoking a package of cigarettes 
 [77] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 a day. And just as we had diagnosed appendi- 
 citis the pain would suddenly shift, and become 
 congestion of the lungs, and every symptom 
 was there! The days that his malady per- 
 mitted him to take his meals in the refectory 
 with the others, his chief occupation was to 
 discover whether or not he was being served 
 with pork, which is forbidden by his creed. 
 
 Lambert, who, among other things, had 
 elected to wait on his fellow men at table 
 (thereby reserving for himself the privilege of 
 eating in the kitchen with my own domestics ) , 
 took Sidi under his special tutelage, and when 
 the forbidden viands appeared on the menu, 
 always had some specialty dished up for him. 
 I can see him now leaning over Sidi who had 
 stretched out his hand towards the dish — pull- 
 ing him by the sleeve and shouting "Aloof, 
 aloof — not good — no, no". 
 
 "Where did you learn Arabic?" I queried. 
 
 "Picked it up when I was with the Colonial 
 troops in Africa," came the quick reply that 
 made all the men prick up their ears, and 
 wonder how this pale faced sapling had ever 
 stood the strain. 
 
 It was with the first comers that we became 
 [78] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 most quickly acquainted. They had been 
 allotted the ward in the drawing-room, where 
 the broad hearth with its brilliant pine wood 
 fire was most inviting, and the groups that 
 clustered about it gradually lost their shyness, 
 and at the end of a week were freely discussing 
 the one and only topic of the time — the war. 
 Not that any of them ever spoke, or even 
 alluded to the individual part that he had 
 played therein. Personal narratives had to be 
 extracted piecemeal, and yet many among the 
 lads wore the cross for bravery. 
 
 It was more like a house party than anything 
 else, and little by little the men from the other 
 rooms would come down bringing their chairs, 
 to spend an hour or so mid this genial com- 
 pany. 
 
 A touching attention which won my heart 
 immediately was the fact that I could come 
 upon them at any time of the day or evening, 
 and always find my favourite armchair vacant, 
 awaiting me. The presence of a woman 
 amongst them never created the slightest shy- 
 ness, nor awkward feeling. We were all part- 
 ners in the same great struggle — and we knew 
 it. I must admit, however, that mine was the 
 [79] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 only place respected, for time and again I have 
 watched a boy sit near the kindly blaze — liter- 
 ally steaming in his clothes — loath to give up 
 his favourite spot — knowing that a breathing 
 trip to the window would lose him his seat for 
 the next hour at least ! 
 
 Now and again the doctor was called to Cha- 
 teau-Thierry to make his report, and each time 
 he returned he would bring the daily paper. 
 What a rare treat it was. One of us women 
 would seize it and immediately read the news 
 aloud to all assembled, and then the little 
 flimsy, single sheet would pass from hand to 
 hand — and when finally consigned to the waste 
 basket was nearer pulp than paper! 
 
 If the news were favourable tongues wagged 
 almost gaily, planning future advances, most 
 of the men foreshadowing the time when home 
 and loved ones would be liberated from the op- 
 pressors' heel. If the news were not so good, 
 far from discouraging its readers, it seemed to 
 stimulate their ardour. 
 
 "Ah, la, la! what's fifty yards of trenches — 
 let 'em look out for themselves to-morrow!" 
 And almost invariably the next day the cannon 
 would roar in our immediate vicinity. 
 [80] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "What did I tell you! they're pounding on 
 the cathedral at Soissons, that means they've 
 lost somewhere up the line!" 
 
 At first I imagined that this was merely sup- 
 position but later on I found it to be true ; and 
 long before we could procure the "Commu- 
 nique" we were able to judge the success of our 
 troops from the more or less heavy bombard- 
 ment inflicted by the Germans upon our near- 
 est open city. 
 
 "What good can it do 'em to waste their 
 shells like that?" 
 
 "They're just mad — they've got to break 
 something." 
 
 "Mad, well they'll be madder yet before we 
 get through with 'em ! It'll take 'em a hundred 
 years to recover. We gave 'em a taste of what 
 we could do at the Marne — didn't we?" 
 
 "Just give us time and — " . . . 
 
 "When do you think it'll all be over?" tim- 
 idly inquired "La Petite Jaquette," who like 
 Cinderella was always to be found bending 
 over the fire, stirring some mysterious remedy. 
 
 "Over! how can I tell — but I don't see what 
 you've got to growl about — isn't this place 
 good enough for you?" 
 
 [81] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 That November there seemed to be no end to 
 the bad weather. It rained on and on hope- 
 lessly and ceaselessly, housing the men for 
 weeks at a time, and making it necessary to 
 invent amusements, for once the home letters 
 written, time hung heavy on the hands of these 
 twoscore patients who were making rapid 
 strides towards complete recovery. 
 
 From somewhere in the ruins a battered 
 chess board had been extracted, and a clever 
 cabinet maker turned us out a hand made set 
 of men. This, however, was distraction for a 
 half dozen at most — the two players and their 
 nearest neighbours, who used to bet their week's 
 dessert on their favourites. 
 
 Someone found a chromo-lithograph, which 
 was ironed out, glued to a board, and then 
 sawed into a hundred pieces, making an enter- 
 taining picture puzzle. 
 
 Last, but not least, Lambert produced a 
 pack of cards which might have been carried 
 through the war of 1870, if one were to judge 
 their age by their colour! 
 
 "Where'd you get them?" inquired a de- 
 lighted devotee. 
 
 "In Belgium, when I was with the Lancers!" 
 [82] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The interlocutor scratched his head. 
 
 "I thought you said you belonged to the 
 Colonial Infantry?" 
 
 But Lambert had already discreetly retired 
 beyond hearing. 
 
 It seemed to me that every one of these men 
 had a different way of telling fortunes — and 
 between seances the pack would be borrowed 
 by ardent lovers of "Ecarte" or "Manille". 
 
 I tried to introduce poker, but not being an 
 expert at the game myself, my efforts were 
 fruitless, and I was gently but firmly informed 
 that if one really wanted to gamble for buttons 
 or pebbles, Baccarat far surpassed any Amer- 
 ican invention. 
 
 Another favourite pastime was singing. Na- 
 tive talent was not sufficient to permit us to 
 graduate even to two part songs — but each 
 and every man, no matter what his vocal qual- 
 ities has some favourite ditty — some patriotic, 
 some sentimental — but for the most part dear 
 old folk songs characteristic of the realm from 
 which the singer came. It is really extraor- 
 dinary in what rapt silence forty men will sit 
 listening to a long drawn out story, whose 
 primitive musical accompaniment becomes 
 [83] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 more than wearying after the twenty-second 
 verse ; and it is stranger still when one considers 
 that the French soldier usually so modest about 
 displaying his talents can be called upon for a 
 chanson at almost any time or place — and 
 willingly complies — standing up and pouring 
 out his heart, absolutely unconscious of his sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 It was thus that a sad faced, sallow cheeked, 
 middle aged man called Lebras, insisted upon 
 getting in his turn every time our impromptu 
 concert began. And after the third or fourth 
 stanza — each one of which commenced — "The 
 snow is gently falling' ' — he would be obliged 
 to gasp for breath owing to his rundown phys- 
 ical condition. 
 
 "Don't strain yourself old man", gently 
 hinted a companion a bit bored. 
 
 "No danger, I'm all right now", replied the 
 singer, grasping the rail of his bed to steady 
 himself, and literally growing purple in his 
 attempt to keep on key. 
 
 "Don't overdo, it isn't worth while. Plenty 
 of time to-morrow", suggested another con- 
 frere, guessing my mental agony. 
 
 "I'm still game", would come the reply, and 
 [84] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 as though storming an enemy position the fel- 
 low would valiantly stick to his post — only to 
 fall panting on his bed mid thundering ap- 
 plause from his audience. 
 
 "Awful ordeal for you, Madame", whis- 
 pered little wide-awake Sergeant Lorrain 
 by way of apology, "But he's such a good 
 fellow we can't let him down. He's got a 
 wife and three kids, and he won that medal 
 for going out and fetching in his captain 
 who was agonising twenty yards in front of 
 his trenches. We can stand a lot more from 
 him if you can." 
 
 I once mentioned this extraordinary willing- 
 ness to vocalise in public to an officer friend of 
 mine, a captain. He smiled at my story and 
 in return told such an amusing illustration of 
 this particular propensity, that I cannot resist 
 quoting it here. 
 
 "It was Christmas and the sections who be- 
 hind the lines were awaiting their turn to go to 
 the trenches, asked my permission to organise 
 a concert in a tumble-down shed at the extreme 
 end of the village. The whole thing was super- 
 intended by a shoemaker — jack of all trades — 
 under whose direction a stage was rigged up 
 [85] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and a couple of acetylene lamps actually made 
 to burn." 
 
 "The concert went off splendidly and the 
 next morning the participating artists packed 
 up their kits and ambled forth to the trenches, 
 their extra terrestial faces still beatified by the 
 intense jubilation of the night before." 
 
 "These two sections relieved two others who 
 came back to the cantonment with brows 
 knitted and hearts swelled with bitterness at 
 not having been able to attend the party." 
 
 "Naturally the others had put aside their 
 share of the refreshments. The tables were 
 again set up, and each one got his orange, his 
 cigar, his piece of cheese, his nuts and a cupful 
 of champagne. When the bottle had gone the 
 rounds there was a general demand for a song 
 and several volunteers rose." 
 
 "About eleven o'clock that night", continued 
 the captain, "I was making a round when I 
 caught sight of the lights in the shed, and 
 quickly hastened in that direction. I opened 
 the door and at the other extremity of the hall, 
 mounted on the brilliantly lighted platform 
 was a soldier, who, one hand on his heart was 
 singing — 
 
 [86] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Quand les Mas fleuriront — out — out!' 
 "So engrossed was he by his song that he 
 didn't perceive my presence, and the second 
 glance showed me that the fellow was singing 
 to empty seats. All his companions, dead 
 tired, had rolled themselves up in their blankets 
 and were peacefully sleeping at his feet!' , 
 
 The greatest sensation of the month was the 
 arrival of a real wounded man. The little 
 temporary hospital at Rebais, where Madame 
 Guix had taken care of so many cases during 
 the invasion, was closing its doors for lack of 
 patients. One alone remained, a chap named 
 Paul Coutin, who had had a leg amputated 
 but was hardly sufficiently recovered from the 
 operation to be dismissed from the army and 
 thrown helpless upon the world. He had been 
 a great favourite with Madame Guix who was 
 delighted to have him finish his convalescence at 
 Villiers, so, thanks to my notary who acted as 
 intermediary between the two military doctors, 
 we finally obtained his permission, and Paul 
 was duly transferred in maitre Baudoin's little 
 wheezing motor. 
 
 [87] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 His arrival was a triumph and the boys clus- 
 tered round him, almost envious of his mis- 
 fortune, which had no doubt won him the mili- 
 tary medal. 
 
 Appreciating that he was no longer "In the 
 game", Paul made light of his affliction, and 
 willingly told us of his campaign. It was 
 doubly interesting to me, for after making the 
 retreat from Charleroi and reaching Chateau 
 Thierry he had covered practically the same 
 ground as I in my flight to safety, and it was 
 a joyful surprise to find that he belonged to 
 that same cavalry regiment that I had watched 
 from a street corner in Rebais, setting off to 
 battle at two in the morning with smiles on 
 their lips and joy enough to appreciate my 
 invocations of good luck. 
 
 "You never saw such a mess in all your life", 
 explained Paul to a group of admirers. "We 
 got into a hand to hand fight with the Bodies, 
 on the top of the hill overlooking Chateau 
 Thierry. It was dusk, when we started and 
 before we knew it, it was pitch dark, the dark- 
 est night you can imagine. Of all the rows you 
 ever heard, this was the toughest — but the 
 worst of it was we couldn't tell our men from 
 [88] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 theirs. You'd hear a horseman coming down 
 on you, and I'm blessed if there was a way of 
 finding out whether he was friend or enemy. 
 Finally in the midst of it all the German bugle 
 blew "Stop the fight" — and someone yelled in 
 French "Go to it fellows!" and you bet we 
 went. Cleaned house thoroughly. Half an 
 hour later when we got orders to draw off, and I 
 came up with Joseph, our bugler, he was still 
 laughing over the good joke he'd played on the 
 Boches." 
 
 "But our Adjutant didn't think it was a 
 joke at all. Most of us had left more or less 
 of our equipment on the battlefield, and all the 
 way to Rebais we scrapped with him about 
 what the Captain would say next day when we 
 were lined up." 
 
 From Rebais Paul had participated in the 
 battle of the Morin, and it was during the 
 French advance that he had been picked off 
 by a German sharpshooter, hiding in the 
 bushes. His horse slightly wounded had can- 
 tered away leaving Paul sprawling on the 
 ground with a bullet through his knee. 
 
 He probably fainted, for when he woke up it 
 was night, and his faithful steed was licking his 
 [89] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 face. His first movement afforded much 
 agony — but nevertheless he determined to look 
 at his wound as soon as possible. He managed 
 to find a match in his pocket, and striking it, he 
 was horrified at the condition of his leg, which 
 was swollen so he could not remove his boot. 
 While wondering what was going to become of 
 him, dawn broke and through the mist he could 
 see a horseman advancing in his direction. A 
 second later he recognised a Uhlan coming 
 head-on, his lance lowered! Paul made a des- 
 perate effort to reach his gun, which had fallen 
 not far from his side, but his pain was so great 
 that he could not stir. 
 
 In his picturesque language the lad told how 
 he thought his last moment had come when the 
 Uhlan dashing upon him, raised his lance, and 
 then to Paul's utter surprise, instead of run- 
 ning him through — suddenly let his arm drop, 
 dismounted and offered our wounded hero a 
 drink of water and a couple of cigarettes ! 
 
 "The next thing I remember was some peas- 
 ants hoisting me into their cart, and when I 
 woke up Madame Guix was cutting off my 
 boot." 
 
 Once strong as a young ox, just as soon as 
 [90] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 he was able to be about, Paul began exercising 
 so as not to become soft. He had been a turner 
 of steel pieces in a motor factory, and had every 
 intention of returning to his old trade. He 
 very shortly became expert at getting around 
 on his crutches, and his effort to convince him- 
 self and us that he was not physically inferior 
 because he was one leg minus, were heroically 
 pathetic. 
 
 I have seen him kick off a base in an impro- 
 vised foot ball game for which we made new 
 rules, and once when he was standing in the 
 courtyard, George led out old Cesar to harness. 
 His remembrance of the animal who had so 
 faithfully borne him through the fight, rushed 
 like blood to his head. Dropping his crutches 
 with a superhuman effort, he gave a spring, 
 arriving safely on Cesar's back, and trium- 
 phantly cantered to the front door. 
 
 Strange as it may seem the boys had no 
 horror of Paul's infirmity. The exhibition of 
 his stump, and the measuring to see if enough 
 had been left to assure him a wooden leg, 
 were a source of great merriment to his entire 
 ward. 
 
 Through some physiological phenomenon, 
 [91] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 for which I do not recall the English technical 
 name, the stump itself rapidly became covered 
 with an abundant growth of hair. One morn- 
 ing after the visit, Paul asked Madame Guix 
 what she thought was the cause, and too busy 
 to enter into details, my nurse replied that she 
 supposed it was all the iodine she had used as 
 disinfectant. 
 
 The matter was dropped there, but the next 
 morning I was astonished to see Sergeant 
 Godec and Martin with their heads tied up. 
 
 "Severe toothache", replied Godec to my in- 
 quiry. Martin didn't even say as much — but 
 rocked himself to and fro in his armchair, the 
 perspiration trickling down his cheeks. 
 
 Fancying there was something amiss, I went 
 to the doctor, who with a twinkle in his eye, and 
 at the risk of violating the professional secret, 
 informed me that both Martin and Godec, who 
 were bald as bats, had overheard Madame Guix 
 informing Paul about the abnormal growth of 
 hair on his stump. So that same evening on 
 retiring, each one had painted the other's un- 
 adorned head with sufficient iodine to raise a 
 tremendous blister, and in the middle of the 
 night so great was their agony that they were 
 [92] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 obliged to rouse the doctor, and sheepishly 
 avowing their vanity, supplicate him to ease 
 their pain — and above all not to tell the others. 
 
 This same Martin was the oldest of all our 
 patients. Over forty, he belonged to the ter- 
 ritorials, and had not weathered the Fall cam- 
 paign very well. Rheumatism, asthma and 
 bronchitis had laid him low — but not suffi- 
 ciently to require his remaining in bed. A 
 builder by trade, he used to wander around all 
 over the place, and at night by light of the lamp 
 would make plans for reconstruction when the 
 war should be over. 
 
 Much to his annoyance the chimney in his 
 room drew very poorly, and in the middle of 
 the night would often send out puffs of suffo- 
 cating smoke. Martin stood it as long as he 
 could, and then finally having raked up a 
 plank, at the price of much puffing and blow- 
 ing, climbed up three flights of stairs and 
 pushed his board out a window onto the roof. 
 These extraordinary proceedings were ob- 
 served with much interest by all those who were 
 able to be abroad, and any quantity of good 
 advice as to what to do to prevent slipping or 
 falling, was offered by the admiring spectators. 
 [93] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Martin's appearance, pulling himself 
 through a little round window that was scarce 
 bigger than a port hole, was greeted by a roar 
 of applause from below. Quick to see fun he 
 replied by removing his cap and making a pro- 
 found bow. 
 
 Peals of laughter from the audience, and 
 then almost breathless silence while Martin 
 consolidated his plank and tried it with one 
 foot. Then he returned to the window and 
 drew forth a long pole, to which was tied a 
 broom. Everyone guessed what he was going 
 to do with it, and after he had successfully 
 reached the crest of the chimney and the tight- 
 rope act was no longer a novelty, the men be- 
 gan talking in groups, while Martin poked 
 away for a good five minutes. 
 
 "Is it as full as all that?" called someone, 
 just for the sake of saying something. 
 
 "Shh!" returned a neighbour in a loud 
 whisper, "He thinks he's in an observation post. 
 Don't disturb him." 
 
 This was followed by general giggling 
 among the boys. 
 
 "Something's let go," cried Martin trium- 
 phantly, and at the same moment a fearful 
 [94] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 shriek arose from indoors. Everyone made a 
 dash towards the entrance, and following in 
 their wake I arrived just in time to see "La 
 Petite Jaquette" emerge from the doorway, 
 sputtering and spitting and literally covered 
 with some clear, slimy liquid. 
 
 "I'm drowned, I'm suffocating — what a 
 dirty trick to play — if ever I get hold of the 
 rascal who did it!" gasped Cinderella junior. 
 
 "Did what?" they all shrieked in chorus. 
 
 "Threw that pot of nasty, sticky stuff down 
 the chimney on my head!" 
 
 "Sticky stuff?" The boys looked at each 
 other and then at Betsy, my bull dog, who 
 having followed "La Petite Jaquette" in his 
 flight, was calmly licking the ground surround- 
 ing him. 
 
 "It's honey, I do believe — of course it is!" 
 
 In the meantime Martin was wildly gesticu- 
 lating from the roof. 
 
 "Get a jar, get a bowl, don't lose any of it". 
 
 Unfortunately when we arrived it was too 
 late — the lovely honeycomb had received too 
 severe a shock and lay burst wide apart mid 
 the ashes and soot in the fireplace. In its fall 
 it had smeared the sides of the chimney, and 
 [95] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 for weeks afterwards one could smell caramel 
 whenever Martin's fire gleamed most brightly. 
 
 One of the most interesting things about my 
 hospital from a psychological point of view, 
 was the rapidity with which the occupants ac- 
 quired the sensation of possession. Within a 
 fortnight after their arrival the hospital was no 
 longer called "Hospital number seven," but our 
 hospital — then presently, our chateau — our 
 Villiers. Shortly after we had been established 
 the convent in our market town, some four 
 miles down the road, was drafted by the mili- 
 tary authority and used for similar purposes. 
 When there was a lull in the eternal drizzle 
 some of the poor fellows at Charly who were 
 literally cloistered, would take a constitu- 
 tional, pushing as far at times as our village. 
 Seeing our Red Cross flag one or two of them 
 ventured into the park, but were promptly 
 ejected by our men. 
 
 "This is private property", I heard them say. 
 
 "I know", timidly protested the other, "but 
 it's a hospital now". 
 
 "What if it is, that doesn't make it public, 
 does it?" 
 
 [96] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "No, but"— 
 
 "There is not any but about it, we don't 
 come down to Charly snooping around in 
 your business, do we ? No ! then don't you come 
 snooping around up here!" 
 
 What they said was perfectly true, for 
 though there was a ten foot wall and a moat 
 around the entire property, we never dreamed 
 of closing the gates, even at night. Aside from 
 promenades in the park when weather per- 
 mitted, the boys did not seem to care about 
 tramping on the high-road, visiting the country 
 round. They probably realised that they'd 
 have more of that than they bargained for just 
 as soon as they left us. 
 
 Presently our doctor announced that our 
 patients were doing so well that two medical 
 inspections a day were useless, henceforth there 
 would be but one, at eight in the morning. Not 
 long afterwards Madame Guix discovered that 
 around five p. m. few of the boys could be found 
 indoors, and that at bedtime many of them had 
 a high color, bright eyes and very glib tongues. 
 From the housekeeper's totals it was easy to 
 discover that there was a decided falling off in 
 appetite at the evening meal. 
 [97] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Something was amiss, but what? Who was 
 doing it? How was it done? We set our 
 brains to working, and very quickly we sup- 
 posed that because of an attractive seventeen 
 year old daughter, Monceau, the one and only 
 inn-keeper in the town, had lured the boys into 
 his cafe. I even went the length of making a 
 surprise visit that cost me a bottle of peach 
 brandy for which I then had no use whatsoever. 
 All of no avail. 
 
 It was Lambert who let the cat out of the 
 bag. For some unknown reason he got into a 
 dispute with George who peasant-like, did not 
 make much choice of terms, and told Lambert 
 he was either crazy or drunk. 
 
 Resenting both insults, but sufficiently 
 master of himself to realise the punishment if 
 he were proven intoxicated, the chap who had 
 bragged about belonging to the Colonial. In- 
 fantry, and to the Belgian Lancers almost in 
 the same breath, decided to act the madman. 
 Falling on the floor he began wriggling about, 
 calling for his wife in most endearing terms, 
 and literally frightening to tears the women 
 in the kitchen who ran out screaming for the 
 doctor. 
 
 [98] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Madame Guix appeared and was just about 
 to be taken in by the comedy, when the doctor 
 himself, returning from his walk an hour earlier 
 than usual, loomed upon the scene. 
 
 Lambert's delirium redoubled. It was in- 
 deed high art. But our doctor was not to be 
 fooled. He ordered a dash of ice cold water, 
 and then that Lambert be put to bed. 
 
 Half an hour later, in spite of his every effort 
 to seem wild and wandering, his eyes closed 
 and he dropped to sleep. And it was while 
 Madame Guix and I sat near him wondering 
 when and how all this had come about, that our 
 patient began mumbling in his sleep. At first 
 I paid no attention to his ramblings, but pres- 
 ently when the words "Pere Poupard" were 
 repeated again and again, I began to listen 
 more closely. 
 
 "I've got it", I said, and leaving the room I 
 threw a shawl about my shoulders and started 
 straight for Poupard's cottage. 
 
 Darkness was coming on, and something told 
 me to look through the window before knock- 
 ing at the door. Shading my eyes with my 
 hand, I gazed and beheld — Father Poupard at 
 one end of the table, surrounded by a full score 
 [99] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 of my patients who were gently sipping from 
 tumblers different qualities of the old man's 
 home brew. Such generosity they had never 
 encountered in all their lives. 
 
 What was the use of making a fuss ? I con- 
 fided my discovery to the doctor, saying I 
 would be responsible for the boys if he would 
 interview Poupard. 
 
 Next morning, all I said to the whole hos- 
 pital assembled was — "Gentlemen, it would be 
 wiser to discontinue your afternoon tea 
 parties." 
 
 They understood and obeyed. 
 
 [100] 
 
IV 
 
 "Madame, I no longer believe in God." 
 This startling confession which literally took 
 me off my feet was made in my office by a pale 
 faced, placid looking little man called Batiot, 
 who had asked for a private interview and was 
 hardly seated before he burst forth with the 
 statement as though anxious to relieve his 
 mind. 
 
 Batiot was one of our latest arrivals, and 
 known to me as suffering from nervous break- 
 down. My particular attention had been 
 drawn to him through the fact that when able 
 to get about, he had seemed so keenly afflicted 
 at being obliged to put on his soiled military 
 togs, that for our own moral welfare, as well as 
 his, we had scoured the village and finally man- 
 aged to rig him out with a threadbare blue 
 serge suit, two sizes too large, and a queer little 
 knitted tamoshanter, which clung to his head 
 like a scull cap. Thus equipped he had a 
 strange, vague resemblance to the late Presi- 
 dent Carnot, which his room mates had not 
 [101] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 failed to observe, and from then on he was 
 known as none other. 
 
 "What do you mean Batiot? Surely you 
 are jesting", said I sparring for time. 
 
 "No, madame, I was never more serious in 
 my life." 
 
 "Hum! well much as I'd like to be I fear I 
 am hardly the person to come to under such 
 circumstances. Were you a Christian?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "A Catholic?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, I should advise you to have a talk with 
 our priest down at Charly. If you are not well 
 enough to go, I'll try to make arrangements to 
 have him come here. Does that suit you?" 
 
 "Le President" said it did, but with no ap- 
 parent enthusiasm, and our conversation ended 
 there. 
 
 Not even my onerous daily duties drove that 
 interview from my mind. It worried me. 
 Here was one more proof that the spirit of un- 
 rest was gaining foothold in our midst. Vari- 
 ous insignificant incidents, together with the 
 "Tea parties chez Poupard" were sufficient 
 indication that the boys were chafing for the 
 [102] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 want of something to amuse them. But what? 
 We had racked our brains and invented every 
 plausible pastime for grown-ups that our lim- 
 ited means permitted. 
 
 Deciding that two heads were better than 
 one, I went to Madame Guix about the matter. 
 
 "They're just longing for something to do," 
 she said. 
 
 "I quite agree with you. Can you suggest 
 something? You know they're not strong 
 enough to take up military training of any 
 kind, otherwise they'd have been dismissed 
 from here long ago and sent to their barracks." 
 
 "Surely, but perhaps there are other less 
 fatiguing things. You see they've been civil- 
 ians so long here that their remembrances of 
 their military campaign have become misty, 
 and their ordinary occupations are what they 
 crave. I don't believe any one of them ever 
 had so much time to be ill in all his life." 
 
 I smiled, realizing that my companion was 
 right. But how to go about it? We had men 
 from every branch of the trades, and the pros- 
 pect of opening up a blacksmith shop, or a 
 glass factory seemed hardly feasible at the 
 moment, and I said so. 
 
 [103] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Mercy" ! exclaimed Madame Guix, "I don't 
 mean anything of the kind is necessary. Most 
 of our boys have probably some homely 
 domestic talent that they are ashamed to dis- 
 play unless we prove we are all in need of it. 
 They're far too timid to volunteer." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" 
 
 "I'm sure of it, and you would laugh if you 
 were in the drawing-room this minute and 
 could see Paul and 'Chou' winding off my 
 skein of wool." 
 
 "What's the president by trade"? I asked 
 her. 
 
 "I don't know but I'll find out at once." 
 
 In a few moments she returned bearing the 
 news that he was a tailor ! 
 
 "What luck — the sergeant has been boring 
 the doctor to death for the last week begging 
 permission to go to headquarters and ask for 
 a pair of trousers. His are all worn out. Do 
 you think the president would object to put- 
 ting on the patch?" 
 
 We called him and put the question. From 
 the way his eyes brightened, I felt we were not 
 mistaken. 
 
 "All I need is a thimble, needles, thread, a 
 [ 104] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 table and the material, and I'd make you a suit 
 if you'd like to have me." 
 
 The thimble, needles and thread were easy 
 enough to procure, but an empty table, in a 
 place where furniture was already so scarce 
 gave us food for reflection — and when we had 
 solved the problem by sacrificing our own din- 
 ing-room board between meals, the question 
 of the material out of which to make the 
 patches proved to be a puzzler. It was useless 
 to think of going to a store. There were no 
 drapers at Villiers and at Charly, Madame 
 Maury had had her place looted and burned by 
 the Germans. 
 
 "I'll tell you", suddenly piped up the 
 president, "You get Lambert to give us his 
 Zouave bloomers; there's enough in them to 
 make him a fine pair of ordinary trousers, and 
 there'll be plenty left over to do all the patch- 
 ing we need." 
 
 What a brilliant idea! We acted upon it 
 immediately, but evidently counted without 
 Lambert, for if we had proposed to rob him 
 of his soul, I hardly think any mortal could 
 have been more indignant. He flew into a 
 rage. 
 
 [105] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "What, take my bloomers to make patches! 
 Never! I'd rather go out and throw them in 
 the river than let you put your scissors into 
 them — you sacrilegious, white livered, jelly- 
 fish!" he screamed at the helpless tailor who 
 had politely made the demand. "Trousers that 
 have seen every battle front in France and in 
 Africa", he continued. "Not much! These 
 bloomers go where I go, and the only person 
 that stands a chance of getting them is the 
 fellow that picks up my dead body!" 
 
 His anger degenerated into tears on my ap- 
 pearance, and the proud owner of the "Culotte 
 de Zouave" offered us his wedding ring, his 
 jack-knife, a soldier's most cherished belong- 
 ings, if only we would leave him his bloomers. 
 It is useless to insist, in fact I had no right to, 
 but as by dinner time we had found no other 
 way of procuring material, I confided my 
 dilemma to our officers, and jokingly recounted 
 our fruitless efforts to deprive Lambert of his 
 possessions. 
 
 They were greatly amused and laughed 
 heartily. Presently the doctor sat bolt up- 
 right. 
 
 "Lambert"? said he, "Lambert? Why if 
 [106] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I recall aright he doesn't belong to the Zouaves 
 at all" ! He rang for the sergeant. 
 
 "Godec", said he, "I believe you've got the 
 men's military books in safe keeping." 
 
 "Yes sir." 
 
 "Well then, just bring me in Lambert's, will 
 you?" 
 
 "Certainly sir." 
 
 In a few moments he returned. The doctor 
 took the book from him, and bending over 
 to the light carefully read through the first 
 page. 
 
 "That will do", said he. The sergeant dis- 
 appeared, and he had hardly closed the door 
 before the doctor turned about to us, his eyes 
 bright with amusement. 
 
 "Lambert", said he, "'Lambert doesn't any 
 more belong to the Zouaves than I do. He's 
 a simple private in the <a?th Infantry, that's 
 all! Heaven knows where he got those trous- 
 ers, but he hasn't the slightest right in the world 
 to them. You needn't look any further for 
 your patches." 
 
 Anxious to avoid any imperative scene be- 
 tween officer and private, I suggested we send 
 our night-watchman to see if he couldn't find 
 [107] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 them hanging in the proper place. But the man 
 returned to say that, suspicious of our plans, 
 Lambert had retired entirely clothed. 
 
 I was absent the next morning when the 
 sacrifice was made, but about ten o'clock when 
 I came into the dining-room the president 
 was proudly perched cross-legged on the table, 
 inserting a "piece of pie" into his own red 
 broadcloth trousers. 
 
 "It may seem selfish to do my own first", he 
 explained, a radiant smile lighting up his face. 
 "But you see when I can put on my own uni- 
 form, I can lend my civilian clothes to another 
 fellow so he wont have to go to bed while I'm 
 patching his." 
 
 So popular was the president's tailor shop 
 that a long waiting list had to be established, 
 and his example stimulated a cleaner to steam 
 and press the battered kepis of his friends, 
 who were so proud of their new uniforms 
 that on Sundays they marched to mass two 
 abreast, the president leading, instead of 
 slinking out one at a time in the hope of not 
 attracting attention. 
 
 The haberdashery department was not the 
 sole beneficiary of this streak of enthusiasm. 
 [108] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Once the president had set the pace the 
 others quickly followed suit, and in a couple of 
 days the happy humming and whistlings that 
 came from all quarters, denoted that each one 
 had found a congenial occupation. 
 
 By applying to the wife of a mobilised 
 mason, we procured lime and plaster, and 
 under the supervision of Martin, a building 
 squad worked two hours each pleasant after- 
 noon repairing the damage inflicted by the 
 Hun on the facade of the chateau. 
 
 Chou and his ward neighbour and boon 
 companion, Thierage, had been particularly 
 singled out by the doctor and the pharmacist, 
 and just as soon as their condition permitted 
 they were removed from the drawing-room 
 ward, promoted to officer's orderlies, and al- 
 lotted quarters in the servants' wing, which was 
 not so easy to heat. They were especially priv- 
 ileged mortals, and I am glad to say that they 
 never for a moment sought to take advantage 
 of their situation. They literally ferreted the 
 house from cellar to attic in search of whatever 
 their daily occupations convinced them they 
 required, and to this day I can see them in the 
 court-yard cleaning the officers' sabres with 
 [109] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 fine sand and lemon rinds. Their own guns 
 underwent the same strenuous treatment, after 
 which they were carefully greased and put 
 away. But with the sabres it was quite differ- 
 ent, and fear that they should rust set Chou 
 to thinking. A couple of hours later I came 
 upon him begging the president to sew to- 
 gether long strips of variegated rags, which 
 more resembled a kite-tail than anything I 
 could think of. I said nothing, but watched, 
 and presently when the tailor had complied 
 with his request, I saw Chou sit down and 
 start to entwine the doctor's scabbard, imitat- 
 ing to perfection, Madame Guix's movements 
 and gestures when she was bandaging up an 
 arm or a leg. 
 
 I had little or no occasion to visit the ser- 
 vants' quarters, and a leak, I think it was that 
 summoned my presence to that vicinity. So I 
 profited by the occasion to see how the "Heav- 
 enly Twins" were installed and if they needed 
 anything I might be able to lend them. I could 
 hardly believe my eyes when I opened the door 
 for no chambre de jeune fille was ever more 
 invitingly arranged. 
 
 From damaged rolls of paper that had been 
 [110] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 thrown out by a hanger at Charly, whose stock 
 had been wrecked, Chou and Thierage man- 
 aged to pick out enough of a kind to cover their 
 room. With infinite pains they had measured 
 their window, and begged Mademoiselle Alice 
 to put a hem into two lengths of cheese cloth, 
 which they explained they needed for personal 
 use. Two small, neatly-made-up iron hospital 
 beds occupied one side, and between them, and 
 as sole ornament on that wall, a lithograph of 
 General Joffre, extracted from a back number 
 of "L'lllustration". 
 
 The other wall was a wonder to behold. Ex- 
 actly in the centre was a marvellously con- 
 structed panoply composed of their guns, 
 bayonets, knap-sacks and minor military trap- 
 pings, together with what German trophies 
 they had been able to retain unobserved, and 
 on every other available square inch of space 
 was hung a clock! Such ticking you never 
 heard ! 
 
 Watch repairer by trade, Thierage in his 
 rummagings had unearthed different parts of 
 my various time pieces, had soaked them in 
 kerosene, and finally put them together. Some 
 fifteen or sixteen wrist watches, hung up by 
 
 [in] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 their straps, made a regular fringe to a shelf, 
 and not satisfied with regulating all he could 
 procure in the entire chateau, he had been out 
 in the village and solicited everything from 
 grandfather to alarm clocks. 
 
 A couple of Southerners had investigated 
 the interior of my piano which was much the 
 worse for two hundred pots of jam that the 
 Germans had seen fit to pour over the strings. 
 They rolled the instrument into a back room 
 and during the next week used everything from 
 rakes to monkey wrenches trying to make the 
 thing play. They succeeded fairly well, the 
 upper notes responding to treatment. But the 
 bass was hopeless. Only three notes survived 
 the cure and they formed the C major chord. 
 
 "Never mind", cheerily ejaculated a lyric 
 artist from Beziers. "The bass never counts 
 anyhow. There are enough notes left to do all 
 I need." And he was as good as his word for 
 everything from "Carmen" to the "Machiche" 
 was played and sung with the same accompani- 
 ment. 
 
 On days when they were obliged to remain 
 indoors, the piano was going from dawn until 
 bedtime, and there were moments when I 
 [112] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 thought I should go mad. But the boys didn't 
 seem to mind it in the least. 
 
 I wonder who it was that first inaugurated 
 the brilliant idea of teaching "Sidi" the French 
 language. Probably Bressy, a tall artillery 
 trumpeter, his neighbour in their ward. 
 Straightway of course all the others offered 
 their services as professors, and the different 
 methods that were employed were sufficient to 
 muddle a far clearer brain than that possessed 
 by Amed-ben-Mohamed. The oral system, by 
 syllables, rapidly became a favourite because 
 every one could participate therein, and rainy 
 afternoons one could hear the entire convales- 
 cent hospital repeating in chorus, for hours at 
 a time, "Ba, be, bi, bo, bu", "Da, de, di, do, 
 du", etc. 
 
 They cut out the entire alphabet from the 
 headlines of old newspapers, pasting the letters 
 in order on a strip of cardboard. This prim- 
 itive sheet was rapidly replaced by a highly 
 ornamented affair, made by Sergeant Godec in 
 person, who was so interested in the progress 
 of the pupil, that he actually neglected a cherry 
 wood pipe he was carving in order to provide 
 Sidi with proper material. The poor Moroc- 
 [113] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 can would repeat the letters one after another, 
 and then with a pointer someone would indicate 
 a certain capital. Nine times out of ten Sidi 
 would make an erroneous reply ; there were mo- 
 ments when I wondered if he didn't do it on 
 purpose. For when perchance he articulated 
 the proper sound, the whole room would turn 
 to me for applause of their triumph. 
 
 Amed-ben-Mohamed was not ignorant by 
 any means. Aping his fellow men he used to 
 write long pages of neat hieroglyphics and put 
 them carefully away in his pocket. 
 
 "To Fatma"? mischievously inquired a wag, 
 pointing to Sidi's letter. 
 
 "Oui, out, oui\ was the prompt and joyous 
 reply. "Fatma, wife Amed." At which there 
 was a general shriek of delight and Godec ex- 
 claimed, "You see how his French is improv- 
 ing." 
 
 From somewhere in the attic Chou and 
 Thierage brought to light my very dilapidated 
 tapestry frame with a half finished canvas still 
 stretched upon it. Our cabinet maker at once 
 offered his services, and the damage to the 
 spindle-legs was quickly repaired. So each 
 day, in the half hour that preceded dinner, 
 [114] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Madame Guix amused herself by continuing 
 the work I had already begun. The boys clus- 
 tered around her, fascinated by the little even 
 rows of stitches and the gradual development 
 of the intricate, multi-colored design tickled 
 their artistic sense, so keen even among the 
 most uneducated in France. 
 
 "I'll bet I could do that almost as smoothly 
 as you", finally declared Paul, who from the 
 very start had been aching to get in his hand 
 at it. 
 
 "Do you? Would you like to try it?" 
 
 "Rather! I'll pull it out if I go wrong, I 
 promise." 
 
 "Oh, it's not very difficult." 
 
 Laying aside his crutches the lad took Ma- 
 dame Guix's seat. After a trifling hesitation 
 he soon caught the manner, and so intent was he 
 on doing well that the great beads of perspira- 
 tion rolled from his brow. At the end of three 
 rows he looked up, wiped his face and ex- 
 claimed, "Gee, this is great. Something I can 
 really do to help." 
 
 "Can't you put a chair on the other side of 
 the frame, I'd like to try too?" This from a 
 young shaggy haired miner. 
 [115] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Surely, as many as you like, or rather, as 
 many as the frame will accommodate." 
 
 A precedent was created, and for weeks 
 afterwards the boys had regular hours at the 
 frame, each more than critical of the degree of 
 smoothness attained by his neighbour's needle. 
 We watched their progress, which was really 
 remarkable and when bedtime came, they were 
 loath to put the frame aside. 
 
 Presently I became so busy that three days 
 elapsed before I had time to give their tapestry 
 a moment's attention. Paul, alone, was seated 
 at the frame and as I leaned over his shoulder 
 I was surprised to see that an often repeated 
 motif which on the entire canvas had been 
 worked in blue was in two places done in 
 pink. 
 
 "Whose fantasy is this"? I queried with a 
 smile. 
 
 "The sergeant's." 
 
 "Godec's? Has he been working at it too?" 
 
 "Yes, but all wrong", was the disdainful 
 reply. "I nearly had a fight with him about it. 
 I think he's gone queer because when I told 
 him that wasn't the right colour, he informed 
 me I didn't know what I was talking about, 
 [116] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and to mind my own business. He even went 
 over to the window to match the shade, and 
 came back and worked that scroll in pink!" 
 
 I laughed. "He is not queer, just colour 
 blind", I explained. 
 
 Anyone interested in the study of physiog- 
 nomy would have had ample examples at hos- 
 pital number seven during those first months 
 of the war. Mail service which had to be or- 
 ganized according to the new conditions of the 
 country was rather incoherent, but when the 
 letters did come the boys' faces were marvels to 
 behold. Expectancy quickly changed to de- 
 light or disappointment, gleamed from all eyes 
 as the military post man drove into the yard. 
 
 At first we used to assemble the men and the 
 sergeant would call out their names. But I 
 quickly put a stop to that proceeding when I 
 realised how many had their families in invaded 
 territory and would look in vain for news. My 
 own feelings made me sympathise for it was 
 now well into November, and since the first 
 week in August I had had but three letters from 
 my husband. Thereafter mail was sorted and 
 placed on the hall table and it was surprising 
 the amount of correspondence received by cer- 
 [117] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 tain silent men about whom we knew little or 
 nothing, and fancied for some reason that no 
 one else did. 
 
 Presently the parcel post packages began 
 arriving and the boys never failed to share their 
 contents with their bed neighbours, and often 
 with their entire ward, when size permitted. 
 Eventually, as weeks went by, arose the deli- 
 cate question of accepting when one was cer- 
 tain of never receiving anything with which to 
 return the compliment. Oh, what wonderful 
 charitable work could have been, and can still 
 be done in this field, by way of anonymous 
 packages and trifling money orders that cost 
 little or nothing. It made my heart ache not to 
 be able to wire some kind friend and feel sure 
 of a substantial reply by return mail. 
 
 Oftentimes there was great rejoicing when 
 in a round about way someone got news that 
 his family had fled during the invasion and 
 was safe and sound in some remote corner of 
 France, patiently awaiting the time to return 
 home. 
 
 Coming into the drawing-room quite late one 
 morning I was surprised to see Paul stretched 
 out on his bed with his face buried in his pillow. 
 [118] 
 
I pn 
 
 SOMEONE GOT NEWS THAT HIS FAMILY TIAD 
 FLED DURING THE INVASION 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Eh bien, Paul, what's the trouble ? Are you 
 ill?" 
 
 The only answer was the heaving of his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Has anything happened?" I hastily in- 
 quired of a soldier who put his head in at the 
 door. 
 
 "I couldn't say, all I know is that he got his 
 first letter this morning." 
 
 I returned to Paul's bedside. As I ap- 
 proached, without lifting his head the boy 
 stretched out his hand and poked a soiled, much 
 post-marked envelope into mine. 
 
 "Read it, read it; it's from my brother," was 
 all he said. 
 
 Turning to the window I drew the missive 
 from its cover and read. When I had finished, 
 I wiped my eyes and read it again. And here 
 follows a humble translation of an original, 
 which in spite of many faults in spelling, to me 
 is scriptural in its primitive but noble sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 "My dear Brother: 
 
 I hasten to write you for I have just found 
 out where you might be. I have thought of 
 you so much, and I have asked myself again 
 [119] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and again, and everywhere on the road I have 
 asked if anyone knew the Coutins. 
 
 I have found Louis — but dead. Let me tell 
 you; 
 
 I met some of the ninety-first Infantry. I 
 spoke to one of them whom I had seen be- 
 fore near Charleville. I asked him where he 
 was wounded. He said, "I've got a bullet in 
 the arm". Then he told me of his campaign. 
 He said, "What I regret the most is my dear- 
 est comrade who fell at my side with a splinter 
 of shell in the stomach." Then he named Louis 
 Coutin who lived in La Cachette. 
 
 When he named our brother I did not know 
 what to say. I listened. Then he told me 
 that he had fought like a lion — afraid of 
 nothing. Then he said, he spoke often of us. 
 Then I told him I was his brother. Then he 
 embraced me for us all. That, dear brother, is 
 the way Louis died. 
 
 The sergeant in his section took all his papers 
 and sent them to his wife. 
 
 Paul you must answer me at once. I know 
 that you have been wounded. I hope you are 
 better, and that this will find you about again. 
 Don't fail to write me. 
 
 I am in the trenches, not thirty yards from 
 the Bodies. So many as I can lay hands on, 
 so many less. I shall avenge Louis. 
 
 I am so glad to have found Blanche and 
 [120] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Remond, we will write to each other often 
 now. 
 
 I close wishing you a prompt recovery. Your 
 brother who embraces you with all his heart, 
 Alfred Coutin 
 332 Inf. 17th. Comp. 
 61st. Div. 
 
 Postal Sector 103. 
 
 And to Paul's prompt reply came the fol- 
 lowing from the valiant father of five small 
 children, left motherless through grief to be 
 cared for in a foundling asylum, then within 
 the enemy's lines. 
 
 Monday, November 9th, 1914. 
 Dear Paul : — 
 
 I am sending you a line to say that we are to 
 be relieved to-morrow. As soon as I get to 
 cover I will write you. It is much easier. For 
 with the nights we've just been through, 
 drenched to the skin, and bombardment all 
 day long, it's an infernal place to work in. 
 Those pigs of Germans sow their shells all over 
 the place without doing any damage. I think 
 if they are artillery men at all, they must be- 
 long to the class of 1915, for my kid could do 
 as much as they with their guns. More noise 
 than harm. Let me tell you I had the nerve to 
 go fishing right under their noses. At night — 
 [121] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 rain. I made a fine catch. You can bet the 
 next night I went back, each time with much 
 precaution. You must really love fishing to 
 throw a line within twenty yards of them. I 
 caught a "Rosette" that weighed over a pound. 
 It made an infernal racket. I saw the moment 
 when I'd have to drop it and quit. I stayed 
 on just the same, my rifle beside me; that's the 
 only friend I know. 
 
 Later. 
 Dear Paul: — 
 
 I hope my line will find you. As soon as I 
 get to cover I'll write. I will tell you every- 
 thing since my departure from Rethel. I've 
 been some distance; at least twice around the 
 world. You will see, it's very interesting. 
 We've been very lucky. 
 
 Send a word of greeting from me to all those 
 who write you. Blanche writes me that she is 
 going to send you something. I don't know 
 just what. I close with an embrace, 
 
 Your brother Alfred. 
 
 Three consecutive bright days put the finish- 
 ing touches to the convalescence of many men 
 who did not realise that health could return so 
 rapidly. The air was crisp and bracing and 
 there was no need of coaxing them abroad. 
 [122] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 They went gladly, seeking occupation to keep 
 them stirring, anxious to be of use. 
 
 All the leaves were swept from the imme- 
 diate vicinity of the house, and a fatigue party 
 was organized to eliminate them from the eight 
 hundred yards of driveway that leads to our 
 farthest gate. George, as head gardener, 
 supervised the work, and it was while accom- 
 plishing this task that the idea of setting up a 
 steeple chase in the grande allee and invit- 
 ing my greyhounds to participate originated 
 in the heads of these French sportsmen. 
 
 Accordingly boards and brushwood were col- 
 lected, and hurdles grading from two to seven 
 feet were established at even intervals all along 
 the line. Both dogs were sadly out of training 
 and Tiger balked at the high jumps. But 
 Clarice, daughter of Jumper, delighted our 
 eyes by the graceful way she accomplished the 
 feats. Even Betsy, the bull dog, wanted to be 
 in the game while the dignified old foxhound 
 only sniffed at these unheard-of proceedings 
 and took his way into the woods, unmolested. 
 
 Decidedly Tiger must be limbered up, so he 
 was put through a course of training and 
 coaxed to accomplish another foot each day. 
 [123] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 One afternoon he was in the act of clearing the 
 sixth hurdle, when from the distance the voice 
 of the old fox hound warned us he had located 
 something, and ten seconds later a long, lithe 
 hare darted from the bushes and leaped to the 
 other side of the road. 
 
 Tiger had seen him and needed no persuasion 
 to take the seventh obstacle. All the boys lad 
 caught sight of him as well, and steeple chase 
 was forgotten in the pursuit of a much more 
 important sport — real live coursing in the 
 open country. 
 
 Not since that eventful day when Godec and 
 his men had nearly lost their places, had the 
 word "hunting" ever been mentioned. But 
 now the movement was so spontaneous that it 
 would have been folly to try to suppress it. 
 
 They were off! 
 
 What a wild merry chase that animal led 
 them. Up hill, down dale, at one time almost 
 into a stable door, at another through the 
 toughest thicket at the extreme end of our 
 grounds. As though previously arranged it 
 took its homeward course straight down the 
 long avenue, and literally bumped into little 
 Betsey, who true to the traditions of her race, 
 [124] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 struck her teeth into whatever came her way, 
 and held on. It happened to be the hare's ear, 
 and while she hadn't strength enough to pin 
 him to the ground she refused to let go, and he 
 was unable to shake her off. He had to carry 
 her with him in his flight, which, however, was 
 considerably impeded by the fourteen pounds 
 of bull dog that was rolling by his side. This 
 gave Tiger a chance to redeem himself and 
 pouncing upon his prey he raised him in his 
 mouth, and with Betsy who still refused to let 
 go, madly clinging to its ear, he proudly laid 
 the fruit of two hours coursing at my feet. 
 
 That night as we clustered about the fire 
 and waited for the chestnuts we had buried in 
 the ashes to roast, I gazed at the then vigorous 
 faces of our patients and decided once and for- 
 ever that fresh air and exercise are really 
 wonderful remedies when properly adminis- 
 tered. 
 
 [125] 
 
Three times during the same week our 
 doctor was called to headquarters. Each time 
 he returned his face was grave and anxious 
 looking, and on the evening of his third visit I 
 could no longer refrain from asking questions. 
 I feared lest he had heard some ill news of our 
 armies and hesitated to alarm us. 
 
 "No bad tidings from the front, doctor, I 
 hope?" 
 
 "No. No indeed." 
 
 "Nothing new as far as we are concerned?" 
 
 "If new means the evacuation of our present 
 contingent, yes." 
 
 Though I had daily expected word to this 
 effect, it was something of a shock when it 
 came. One cannot live in constant contact with 
 such good humored lads as ours, have cared for 
 their every want, brought them back to health, 
 besides participating in their joys and sorrows, 
 without feeling a pull at one's heartstrings on 
 receiving word that they are considered fit to 
 rejoin the ranks. 
 
 "When are they to go ?" 
 [126] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Within the next day or two." 
 
 "And what is to become of us, our hospital, 
 afterwards?" 
 
 "That depends entirely on you." 
 
 "On me." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How can it? I'm at the disposal of head- 
 quarters." 
 
 "Well, my instructions to-night are to ask 
 you to pay a visit to the 'Medecin-Chef to- 
 morrow. I've brought you back a passport and 
 the pass word." 
 
 Seven o'clock the next morning found me on 
 the front seat of our little farm trap, with 
 Chou as driver and companion. Not that there 
 was any danger should I have chosen to go 
 alone. Chou's presence on this occasion was 
 due to the fact that during the night he had de- 
 veloped an ulcerated tooth, and his face was 
 swollen beyond recognition. The nearest dent- 
 ist was at Chateau Thierry, so naturally I had 
 not hesitated to take him with me. 
 
 How strange it seemed to be jogging along 
 
 in this primitive fashion on roads we had so 
 
 often and so comfortably travelled in our 
 
 motor. How strange never to meet a vehicle 
 
 [127] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 other than an army supply cart, or a wood 
 truck. 
 
 This was my first visit to the city of Jean 
 La Fontaine since it had become a hospital 
 centre, and my ride along the river front 
 showed me that not a single house had been 
 exempt from shell fire during the battle of the 
 Marne. But one could see that each proprietor 
 was doing his utmost to repair the exterior 
 damage, at least, and six weeks later on another 
 visit I found everything apparently restored 
 to its normal condition. 
 
 Headquarters was at the Hotel Dieu, and it 
 was there that Chou deposited me shortly after 
 nine o'clock, with instructions to return for me 
 within an hour, he driving off in quest of a 
 dentist. 
 
 To reach the doctor's office I crossed the 
 court and on entering the establishment was 
 surprised to find myself in the presence of the 
 wounded immediately on stepping into the 
 vestibule. I was hurried down a little dark 
 passage at the end of which I was ushered into 
 a dingy, ill-lighted hall room occupied by the 
 doctor and his three secretary-orderlies. 
 
 Doctor L. apologised for receiving me in 
 [128] 
 

 iyf 
 
 \ 
 
 9 
 
 ! 
 
 '4 
 
 ' - rW 
 
 A 
 
 sm 4mm, 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 O^ , 
 
 NOT A SINGLE HOUSE HAD BEEN 
 EXEMPT FROM SHELL-FIRE 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 such humble quarters — explained that every 
 other available space was necessary for hospital 
 needs, and then went straight to the point of 
 my visit. 
 
 "Madame Huard, I sent for you to tell you 
 that we are going to evacuate your entire hos- 
 pital." 
 
 "Very well, doctor." 
 
 "But that is not the chief reason why I have 
 asked you to make this tiresome trip. I am 
 very well satisfied with the way Annex Num- 
 ber Seven has functioned, but I want to ask you 
 personally to make a bigger sacrifice for our 
 country." 
 
 "Certainly Doctor, what?" 
 
 "Take contagious and infectious cases." 
 
 "Which kind?" 
 
 "Typhoid." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 "Well, it's not the most agreeable thing in the 
 world to ask a woman to sacrifice her home, her 
 linen, and perhaps her life in order to care for 
 contagious diseases. But I throw myself on 
 your mercy. The quantities of wounded alone 
 far surpass any calculation, and inoculation 
 against Typhoid was rare three months ago 
 [129] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 when the war broke out. In consequence we 
 are deluged. As you have no doubt observed, 
 every available corner has been utilised and 
 this is a hospital. In a few moments I will 
 go with you and show you how really necessary 
 it is that some one come to our assistance." 
 
 "But, Doctor I am not protesting, I'm here 
 to receive orders." 
 
 "Good, how many beds have you now?" 
 
 "Forty-five occupied, we might be able to 
 make it fifty." 
 
 "Could you make it sixty without any mate- 
 rial assistance from us? We have nothing to 
 offer to set up the establishment." 
 
 I said I could ; under such circumstances one 
 must never say "I'll try". 
 
 I followed the doctor through the narrow 
 hallway. A second glance at the vestibule told 
 me that not only was every bed occupied, but 
 there were men on stretchers in every corner. 
 My guide led the way down the hill, and then 
 we climbed the steps of the Municipal theatre, 
 where we came upon the newest evacuated, 
 perhaps two or three hundred of them, reclin- 
 ing on the straw which had practically turned 
 the place into a stable. 
 
 [130] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "All typhoid cases, Madame Huard, and 
 doctors are so scarce! We need every one 
 we've got to operate on the wounded, so what 
 are these poor devils to do? Most of the 
 school-houses and public buildings in this town 
 are full to overflowing, and more are coming 
 in all the time." 
 
 So many pairs of wistful, yearning eyes were 
 turned in my direction — so many stifled cries of 
 "Water" "Water", came from lips that be- 
 longed to inert bodies stretched out, without 
 even the possibility of removing their boots! 
 
 The doctor saw I was touched. 
 
 "Could you double your number of beds?", 
 said he, turning about sharply. "Sixty pa- 
 tients are too few for one doctor, considering 
 the emergency." 
 
 A hundred and twenty typhoid patients! 
 The space I possessed, but what about the beds, 
 linen and so forth? In a second I imagined 
 that perhaps we might beg such things in our 
 vicinity — and experience had taught me that 
 anything one can conceive is realisable. 
 
 "Yes, I can make it one hundred and twenty 
 beds, but I cannot guarantee to furnish the 
 necessary help to run the establishment. It can 
 [131] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 be done if you will send us some more infir- 
 miers" 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 "Impossible, we've not enough here now." 
 
 "I realise that", said I. "Madame Guix and 
 I stand willing to do our share, but if you take 
 all our men from us you, best of anyone know 
 that there is a limit to human endurance." 
 
 "How many orderlies have you now?" 
 
 "Four good ones, and a sergeant." 
 
 "They can remain." 
 
 "Surely, but they hardly suffice for forty, 
 much less three times that many patients." 
 
 The doctor wrinkled his brow. 
 
 "Among those I am going to evacuate, are 
 there any whose chronic condition will send 
 them back to their barracks rather than to 
 the front?" 
 
 "Yes, three or four." 
 
 "Then keep them; use them." 
 
 And holding up his hand to prevent my 
 thanking him — 
 
 "No, don't tell me about them, I don't want 
 
 to know. I'm not supposed to know. I've even 
 
 got to pretend I don't know. Each of us has 
 
 got to do what he or she can do to help. If I 
 
 [132] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 find we can spare anyone from here later on, I 
 shall remember you. Evacuate all the best 
 to-morrow, and I'll give you three days to pre- 
 pare. Expect fifty men by Saturday noon. 
 Good-bye Madame, you know how grateful I 
 am!" 
 
 I walked out into the street, fairly dizzy 
 from what I had seen — dazed by the thoughts 
 of the responsibility I had just assumed. 
 
 The street was empty. Chou was not at his 
 post. I shook myself a trifle and gazed right 
 and left. No, I was not dreaming, there was 
 no one to be seen. 
 
 Perhaps he's had to wait his turn and there 
 are many to be treated before him. So solilo- 
 quising I started down the hill. At the bottom 
 I questioned some one as to the whereabouts of 
 the dentist. 
 
 No civilians' dentist left. They had never 
 had occasion to need the military specialist — 
 and like phrases greeted my various inquiries, 
 and at the end of a half hour I was no wiser 
 than before. 
 
 I returned to the Hotel Dieu where a sister 
 informed me that he was at Barracks A. 
 
 I crossed the city only to be sent in another 
 
 [ 13*3 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 direction, and finally on the opposite side of the 
 river, in a little, dingy street, I came upon my 
 horse and trap, drawn up in front of a solemn 
 building, over the door of which floated the tri- 
 color. 
 
 Without hesitating I entered. On my ap- 
 pearance, Chou who was seated at the other end 
 of the hall, jumped up and greeted me as 
 though I were a long lost parent, fairly shriek- 
 ing; 
 
 "I knew you'd come, I knew you'd come !" 
 
 "What's the trouble, can't you find a dentist? 
 Why didn't you meet me as I told you?" 
 
 "They wouldn't let me", and he pointed to a 
 sergeant who, a la Godec, was scribbling labor- 
 iously on some neat looking registers. 
 
 "Is that so, sergeant?" said I addressing the 
 person in question, who promptly rose after 
 carefully wiping his pen. 
 
 "I was merely explaining to this chap that 
 we have received word that your hospital is to 
 be evacuated to-morrow, and that our station 
 trap is to help in the moving. Now, if he stays 
 here that makes one less for the horses to drag. 
 I hardly see the necessity of his returning." 
 
 How could he ? How was it possible for him 
 [134] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 to appreciate Chou's feelings at being torn 
 from his friends, his chateau, without a parting 
 word. How could he have guessed that if I had 
 been allowed but one orderly, I certainly would 
 have chosen Chou among all the rest. 
 
 "I see", said I. 
 
 Chou's face fell, his great, round blue eyes 
 took on such a pathetic expression. 
 
 "That's all very well", I continued, "But how 
 am I going to explain his absence to our doctor, 
 and how are you going to account for the miss- 
 ing evacuation ticket that must be given to the 
 men in person?" 
 
 Chou's expression was a marvel to behold. 
 The sergeant's was one of disgust ; he evidently 
 didn't care to have his authority questioned. 
 If it had not been risking complications, I fancy 
 Chou would have clapped his hands and 
 jumped for joy. 
 
 "I shall report this to my superior at once." 
 
 "Certainly, but mind I don't do likewise, 
 and get you reprimanded for assuming too 
 much authority." 
 
 The sergeant was stunned. He looked at me 
 from head to foot and decided that argument 
 might lead to disturbance, so jerking over his 
 [135] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 shoulder the words "Released", he returned to 
 his papers. Chou joined me and together we 
 started homeward. 
 
 A long wail of despair rose from forty pairs 
 of lips when the announcement of departure 
 was made after dinner that evening. Of course, 
 they understood and accepted the situation, 
 which had been a foregone conclusion for some 
 time now. 
 
 "Pity I couldn't get typhoid", lamented one. 
 
 "If I'd been born ten years sooner, I'd be fit 
 for the auxiliary service by now!" declared 
 some one else for the benefit of Godec and his 
 acolytes. 
 
 I dared not tell them that I had permission 
 to keep four. Chou and Theirage, Jeantot and 
 Dubuis had been informed of my intention, but 
 under penalty of being dismissed with the 
 others, had been told to hold their tongues. In 
 making out his list the sergeant was to reserve 
 them for the last waggon load which, of course, 
 would never go. 
 
 Luncheon next day was a dismal meal, and 
 
 before it was finished we could hear the rumble 
 
 of the approaching carts. There was an extra 
 
 cup of coffee for each and the whole repast 
 
 [136] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 topped off with a sip of peach brandy, which 
 came in most appropriately. 
 
 Adieux were affectionate but not effeminate. 
 I procured a blank book which I turned into 
 a guests' record, each one proudly inscribing' 
 his name and address, so that to-day I treasure 
 it as one of my proudest war souvenirs. 
 
 "Good-bye, good-bye!" they called. "A la 
 victoire! Don't forget to write to us." 
 
 We stood and waved them out of sight. 
 
 The next couple of days we were deluged 
 with affectionate greetings on picture post 
 cards. Some wrote letters which I fondly cher- 
 ish, and for nearly three years I have been in 
 constant correspondence with a dozen or more 
 of the boys. Now and again a regular letter 
 ceases to come. The first week I am not 
 anxious. Then perhaps a month slips by — still 
 nothing appears. I need not seek the reason, 
 I know it but too well ! 
 
 From the Dardanelles, from Monastir, from 
 Russia as well as from the battle fronts of 
 Verdun and the Somme have come reiterations 
 of undying appreciation. Their unstinted 
 gratitude has repaid us a hundred fold for the 
 little we did for them. 
 
 [137] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Sergeant Godec and his men returned suc- 
 cessful from their expedition in quest of beds 
 and bedding — but anyone who had ever visited 
 a modern equipped sanitorium, or to whom the 
 word hospital might mean long rows of small 
 white enamelled beds, would certainly have 
 laughed if he could have seen the assortment 
 that fell to our lot. Most of them were wooden. 
 Some hand carved and dating from the eigh- 
 teenth century. The majority were of heavy 
 red mahogany, and varied tremendously in 
 width, so that our most careful arrangement 
 could only produce an uneven unsatisfactory 
 appearance in the wards. 
 
 Every available space in the chateau was 
 utilised; the doctor and the pharmacist agree- 
 ing to share the same room, since they were all 
 large, and partitions few. 
 
 On Friday afternoon we were in the act of 
 counting and marking sheets when a telephone 
 call from headquarters announced the imme- 
 diate arrival of forty men ; almost a day sooner 
 than we expected. 
 
 They came just as did the others, but when 
 the army carts had halted and the curtains were 
 pulled aside, they remained motionless in their 
 [138] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 seats — poor human wrecks — unconscious of 
 time, place or surroundings — so accustomed to 
 being jostled and jolted, first in one vehicle 
 then in another, that they could hardly believe 
 that they had stopped for good. We were 
 obliged to help them down. 
 
 They came without knapsacks or guns, which 
 followed in an open rig, and from the colour of 
 the tags tied to their buttonholes we knew that 
 we had to do with severe cases of typhoid, 
 though to prevent discouragement, the descrip- 
 tion on the card ran : — 
 
 "Embarras gastrique aigu." 
 
 Not a sound from any mouth, not a smile on 
 any lips — the vacant stare in their eyes be- 
 tokening their total submission to the malady 
 that had gripped and strangled their every 
 effort to resist. Gently we led them in. 
 
 It would be useless to try to depict their un- 
 shaven, unkempt condition ; as long as they had 
 a spark of fight left they had remained in the 
 trenches, unwilling to complain, living in hope 
 of being "Better tomorrow", and, as is gener- 
 ally the case, lingering until medical assistance 
 could no longer prevent, but merely witness the 
 rapid development of their sinister ill. 
 [139] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 One or two amongst them were chewing 
 vaguely at the unlighted butts of cigarettes. 
 A certain very youthful chap was staring 
 wildly at an orange which he shifted from 
 hand to hand, uncertain what he should do 
 with it, too tired to make the mental effort 
 necessary to find out; while others laying eyes 
 on the chairs in the vestibule, quickly seated 
 themselves, vainly trying to gather enough 
 strength and courage to "Move on" should 
 we so desire. 
 
 It would have been futile to attempt medical 
 examination, or to let them even approach their 
 beds before having been subjected to Chou 
 and his partners who had chosen to superin- 
 tend the baths — no easy undertaking when one 
 considers that all the water had to be heated 
 in huge clothes boilers on the kitchen range, or 
 over the open fire, and then carried some hun- 
 dred yards to the only bath tub that had re- 
 mained intact. 
 
 Shoes, caps, top-coats and shirts were 
 dropped in tiny heaps outside the bathroom 
 door, to be gingerly removed for disinfection — 
 perhaps disposed of altogether. And then the 
 patients were gently deposited in the luke- 
 [140] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 warm, disinfected water, without removing 
 another stitch. Those who find these details 
 too disgusting, pray jump to the end of the 
 paragraph, but now that war has become a 
 Metier, and organization and efficiency are no 
 longer vain words, it seems unfair to those who 
 willingly laboured against such tremendous 
 odds, not to state exactly the situations with 
 which they had to cope. Here were men come 
 to us in November with typhoid already de- 
 veloped to its worst stages, and before we could 
 even take their temperature it was necessary to 
 remove with pincers the underclothing they had 
 put on before the battle of the Marne ! 
 
 Night closed in, and the dinner hour came 
 and passed unheralded, unheeded, before the 
 four wards containing ten patients each, were 
 carefully inspected and their numerous treat- 
 ments methodically noted by the sergeant. In 
 most cases the men were so weak that they had 
 to be raised up and propped during the exami- 
 nations, and when finally we found ourselves 
 alone in the vestibule, Godec could not help 
 exclaiming — " 
 
 "What a difference from day before yester- 
 day!" 
 
 [141] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 What a difference indeed ! 
 
 It did not take us long to find out what real 
 hospital work meant. The forty men to whom 
 we had wished such cheerful "Bon voyage" 
 two days since, had been as forty guests at a 
 house party. Now we had real patients, incap- 
 able of the slightest effort, to whom we had to 
 be everything, for whom everything had to 
 be done. 
 
 During the first nights at least it was decided 
 that scrupulous watch be kept, and the pharma- 
 cist and one orderly assumed the guard of the 
 two upstairs wards, while to "La petite ja- 
 quette" and myself fell the vigil of the draw- 
 ing-room and the library. Madame Guix and 
 the doctor would alternate with us so that none 
 should have two consecutive nights without 
 sleep. 
 
 At ten o'clock when I took my post, almost 
 all the men had fallen into that heavy, unrest- 
 ful slumber that betrays utter exhaustion. For 
 the sake of economy, as well as for their com- 
 fort, the room was lighted only by a small 
 veilleuse — or night lamp, and the glare of a 
 crackling grate fire, our only means of heating. 
 Our supply of wood for the night evenly sawed 
 [142] 
 

 VIEW OF SOISSONS FROM THE 
 FONT DE VILLENEUVE 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and carefully stacked on either side of the 
 chimney, looked most formidable. 
 
 The drawing-room and the library com- 
 municate by two large double doors, which 
 when thrown open made it quite possible to 
 hear everything that was going on in either 
 room. From sheer force of habit I elected 
 place in the former, and went to work putting 
 my table in order, arranging the medicine 
 glasses, and carefully noting the exact hour at 
 which the first dose was to be given. "La petite 
 jaquette" after arranging the coals and having 
 made a round to assure himself that all was 
 well, took place opposite me on the hearth, 
 snuggled down in his chair and in less than no 
 time had dozed off. 
 
 Presently the only sound in the room was the 
 ticking of an alarm clock on the mantle, the 
 embers falling in the hearth and the heavy, 
 uneven breathing of forty sleeping men. 
 
 "Water, water", faintly called a thin rasping 
 voice at one end of the ward. 
 
 I complied with the request, and in spite of 
 my every effort to be as quiet as possible, the 
 man in the next bed stirred, rolled over, and 
 said "I, too". 
 
 [143] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I raised them and held the refreshing liquid to 
 their lips, and as soon as they had drunk they 
 fell over as though lifeless, on their pillows. 
 
 On the way back to my table to replenish my 
 glasses, one lad sat bolt upright and in imper- 
 ative tone demanded that his thirst be 
 quenched. 
 
 "Water, I say, give me water!" 
 
 In a few moments silence again reigned save 
 for a long, low groan, an incomprehensive mur- 
 mur, which soon died away. 
 
 The unexpected roar of a heavy gun, which 
 seemed to be much nearer than ever before, sur- 
 prised me somewhat, and aroused "La petite 
 jaquette", who rubbed his eyes and stared 
 about him in an uncertain fashion. 
 
 "Pauline, Pauline", wailed a high pitched 
 voice in the other room — "Pauline, ma petite 
 Pauline" — 
 
 ' 'Water — water — quick — I 'm suffocating." 
 
 "I believe one of them is talking in his sleep", 
 volunteered my companion, rising in the semi- 
 darkness to take up his duties in the adjoining 
 ward. 
 
 Time slipped by rapidly, so busy was I at- 
 tending to the various wants. Suddenly I was 
 [ 144] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 alarmed by a sharp cry and a crashing sound 
 behind me, followed by an indignant oath. I 
 made a dash in the direction from which the 
 noise came and arrived on the door sill to see 
 "La petite jaquette" standing staring at the 
 floor, while in every bed a shaggy haired indi- 
 vidual was sitting up looking wildly about him. 
 
 "That's the first, boys", called one — "Look 
 out for the second ! There it comes. Can't you 
 see it? Quick, to the right I say! Run, run! 
 Where's my canteen? Who took it? My can- 
 teen, give it back to me, I tell you." 
 
 "What started this", I asked of "La petite 
 jaquette". "That noise, that crash a moment 
 ago, what were they?" 
 
 I was obliged to talk out loud to make him 
 hear, the delirious men were carrying on so. 
 
 "Only a glass that slipped out of a fellow's 
 hand onto the floor. He insisted on taking it." 
 
 Quickly we passed from bed to bed, smooth- 
 ing a brow, patting a hand, gently persuading 
 them to regain the reclining position. Some 
 resisted a bit, while others literally snapped 
 back on to their places like puppets on a wire. 
 
 This ordeal over, we returned to our places 
 by the fire. 
 
 [ 145] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Pauline, Pauline" — murmured in low 
 agonizing tones, the same tenor voice. We had 
 become accustomed to it now. 
 
 A wild shriek of coarse laughter rent the air 
 and brought me to my feet with a bound. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, that's good! Now then boys, 
 we're off! En avant, en avant — Vive la 
 France — oh, oh!" Then lapsing into a sort of 
 hiccough, "Mama, Mama; Mama, don't you 
 hear me?" it sobbed. 
 
 "Water, O God how thirsty I am!" 
 
 Again I began my rounds, and having fin- 
 ished I was obliged to replace the tiny wick in 
 the night lamp which had flickered and gone 
 out. As I turned to the table for a match, I 
 was startled almost to screaming by the sight of 
 a tall, gaunt figure draped in white, standing 
 close beside me, his finger raised to his lips, 
 enjoining me to silence. In all my life I had 
 never seen anything that so resembled a ghost 
 or a vision. The fire dancing in the grate gave 
 out a queer, lugubrious light, which augmented 
 the pallor of the face and gave a supernatural 
 look to a pair of glassy blue eyes that were 
 staring into vacancy. 
 
 It took me a good quarter minute to pull my- 
 [146] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 self together, steady my trembling hand, and 
 light the match. The figure did not move. 
 
 "Madame", hissed "La petite jaquette" in a 
 forced whisper, peering into the room, "One of 
 them's gone". He halted a second when he 
 caught sight of the great, lanky black haired 
 man, who did not move at his approach. 
 
 "Oh, so there you are", exclaimed my aid in 
 normal tones which brought me to myself. 
 
 "Now then, right about, face — forward, 
 march!", he continued. "No sleep walking al- 
 lowed here. Into bed you go." 
 
 I wiped the perspiration from my forehead 
 and leaned against the table for support. 
 
 But there was no respite. The same plaint- 
 ive voice went right on calling that same 
 woman's name! Some one tried to sing a 
 French version of "Tipperary", and in the 
 midst of it all would come strident cries of "At- 
 tention! Bayonnettes fixes! No! No! No 
 camarade! Sale Boche — " 
 
 Almost all degenerated into troubled groan- 
 ings and moanings. 
 
 A strange scuffling sound, mingled with 
 curses and an indefinable ejaculation, sent me 
 quickly towards a bed on which was writhing 
 [147] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and wriggling a patient I had left calm but a 
 ten seconds since. 
 
 "No, you can't have me, you dirty German 
 no! Gad, no." And the bed clothing which 
 had hampered his movements suddenly giving 
 way, he fell with a dull thud on the floor at my 
 feet. 
 
 "He's charging — hand to hand, living it all 
 over again", whispered "La petite jaquette", as 
 we picked up the unconscious mass and laid 
 him gently on his cot. 
 
 I returned to my table and looked at my 
 watch. A quarter of two. Three hours more 
 at least before dawn. My companion was 
 kneeling on the hearth, setting some water to 
 boil. The agonizing, heart-rending, soul 
 wracking cries had redoubled. As though to 
 drown their agony, the great guns boomed 
 louder and louder. My eyes wandered to the 
 window. Only darkness outside. At the same 
 time, and without turning my head, I stretched 
 out my hand to grasp the back of my chair, 
 snatching it away instantly, my very heart 
 ceasing to beat from terror. I had touched 
 something warm and clammy. 
 
 "Jesas", shrieked "La petite jaquette", 
 [148] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 scrambling to his feet in such haste that he 
 overturned the kettle on the fire, and a sizzling 
 sound accompanied by a puff of smoke, quickly 
 filled the room. 
 
 "Lord, how he frightened me", gasped the 
 injirmier, and at that moment I looked up and 
 beheld the same white draped figure standing 
 between us like a statue. It was his hand I 
 had touched a second since. 
 
 My teeth were fairly chattering from fright. 
 I mopped my face, ground my teeth, and tried 
 my best to control myself. Our ghost was no 
 sooner put to bed than we could hear his bare 
 feet walking on the hardwood floor. 
 
 "He frightens me", blubbered my little 
 helper. "There's something uncanny about 
 him! Oh, there he comes again." 
 
 This was more than I could stand. Like a 
 thunderbolt the sensation of my loneliness, my 
 utter isolation from anything familiar, burst on 
 me, enveloped me. I was afraid. The room 
 seemed suddenly to have become very warm 
 and stifling, everything whirred in front of me. 
 Air, air, I thought as I hurried toward the 
 door leading into the vestibule. 
 
 I turned the knob, took a step forward. My 
 [149] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 feet encountered something that resisted. I 
 was conscious enough to know that whatever 
 was there was moving, alive! The cold air 
 rushed in upon me — gave me strength enough 
 to react — a second later, a long, thin tongue 
 was licking my hand. 
 
 Tiger! 
 
 Tears of joy rushed to my eyes and rolled 
 unheeded down my cheeks as I gathered my 
 faithful greyhound into my arms. My empty 
 bed, no night lamp in my room, had told him 
 something was amiss. He seemed to feel I 
 needed a friend, and he had come. 
 
 It was all over in a moment. My brain 
 cleared up, and I hurried back into the room, 
 ashamed of my puerility, mortified at having 
 abandoned my post and my companion, 
 anxious to find out whether or not my absence 
 had been perceived. What had seemed hours 
 to me, must have been a very brief space of time 
 for "La petite jaquette" was stirring up the 
 fire exactly as though nothing had happened. 
 With joy in my heart I leaned down and patted 
 Tiger, confident that he would never tell. 
 
 Such was my real initiation to the career of 
 [150] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 military trained nurse. I fancy he who re- 
 ceives the baptism of fire must undergo some- 
 thing of the same sensation, and I wonder 
 sometimes if it were not easier for the soldier, 
 for seldom or never under such circumstances 
 does he find himself alone. 
 
 I slept late into the morning. When I came 
 downstairs two more waggon loads of the same 
 dilapidated looking soldiers had been disem- 
 barked and were patiently waiting in the vesti- 
 bule their turn to be made clean. 
 
 While sipping my tea, Yvonne announced 
 that Father Poupard was in the kitchen and 
 had asked to see me in private. 
 
 "He won't tell any of us what it's about. 
 He's been over here asking for Madame three 
 times since seven o'clock this morning." 
 
 "Show him into my office." 
 
 The old man rose and jerked his cap from 
 his head when I entered. 
 
 "Good morning, Madame." 
 
 "Good morning, Father Poupard. In what 
 way can I be of service to you?" 
 
 Pere Poupard fumbled with his cap, evi- 
 dently embarrassed, searching for words with 
 which to begin. 
 
 [151] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Madame Huard", he blurted out at last. 
 "Perhaps you'll be hard with me, but I hope 
 you won't. But I've been watching pretty 
 closely what's going on over here at the cha- 
 teau, and though nobody says anything it 
 strikes me there's a good deal of contagious 
 disease in the air. Now, it isn't right for you 
 not to be protected, so I've brought you over 
 a bottle of my home-brew disinfectant." 
 
 Here he fumbled for the buttons of his waist- 
 coat, and produced from beneath his outer 
 shirt, a dust covered bottle of brandy. 
 
 "With that I saved everybody in the village 
 during the cholera siege in '85. Just ask any- 
 one, they'll tell you whether or not I'm speak- 
 ing the truth. Thanks to this there wasn't a 
 single death in the place. Would you do me 
 the honor of accepting this bottle?" 
 
 I smiled an assent. How could I refuse? 
 
 "Half a glass in the morning before break- 
 fast", he continued. "A drop or two before 
 and after each meal — and just before going to 
 bed — and I'll guarantee you'll be fit as a 
 fiddle." 
 
 [152] 
 
VI 
 
 It was not many days before every bed in 
 hospital Number seven was occupied, the 
 chateau filled to capacity. With three times as 
 many patients as before, and the staff remain- 
 ing the same it was necessary to put the great- 
 est efficiency into the regulating of all service, 
 no matter how trifling. 
 
 To begin with, each one was allotted his spe- 
 cial task, and from the doctor down to the 
 kitchen maid, regular hours for performing 
 regular duties were established. Under no cir- 
 cumstances was anyone to overwork one day 
 just because he didn't feel tired, and in con- 
 sequence be laid up next day. We could not 
 afford it. 
 
 In due time our patients were classified ac- 
 cording to their degree of illness. There were 
 light cases, cases where the malady was still in 
 the stage of development, and there were 
 severe cases. Not that typhoid at all times is 
 not a serious proposition, but by severe cases, 
 I mean actually alarming. There were eigh- 
 teen or twenty of the latter, and for conven- 
 [153] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ience sake they were kept in the downstairs 
 wards. It goes without saying, that it was here 
 Madame Guix and I spent the greater part of 
 our time. Upstairs it was merely a question of 
 giving a spoonful of medicine at a stipulated 
 time — and Mademoiselle Alice Foerter was 
 quite capable of superintending such matters. 
 
 I had never taken care of contagious disease 
 before, in fact apart from certain elementary 
 rules of hygiene born in the Anglo Saxon, I 
 had no training save the little Madame Guix 
 offered in the few days that preceded our 
 evacuation before the enemy, and what dire 
 necessity had taught me when on the highroad. 
 I am, therefore, no judge of the methods we 
 employed in our treatment. The results ob- 
 tained were phenomenal. This then speaks for 
 their efficacy. 
 
 It must also be taken into consideration that 
 we had at our disposal but the contents of two 
 pharmaceutical kits; that headquarters could 
 send us little or nothing; that certain conven- 
 iences, such as agreeable disinfectants, were al- 
 most totally lacking. For personal use we had 
 Javel water, and considered ourselves lucky; 
 for soaking all our sheets, pillow cases, hand- 
 [154] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 kerchiefs and underwear before giving them 
 out to be washed, we had a solution of iron per- 
 chloride. That was all. 
 
 It was the question of linen that became an 
 almost continual source of annoyance. From 
 the peasants in the entire outlying vicinity we 
 had managed to beg or borrow two hundred 
 and fifty pairs of sheets. Calculating thus, 
 each bed had its pair, a pair for change, and 
 then little or nothing was left in reserve. This 
 would not have been so bad if we had had a 
 fully equipped drying room, but we hadn't. 
 Everything was hung out of doors, and at this 
 season of the year in the North Eastern part of 
 France, it is not unusual to have rain every day. 
 Besides, what is one extra pair of sheets in a 
 malignant typhoid ward? With despair in our 
 hearts we used to watch the mist rise very early 
 in the afternoon, or observe the weather-cock 
 gradually turning to "Unsettled". Practic- 
 ally all our outdoor exercise consisted in a hur- 
 ried visit to the drying paddock, and he who 
 returned with some article whose moist state 
 could be terminated comfortably before an 
 open fire, was lauded to the skies. Why didn't 
 we use our numerous empty stables? For the 
 [155] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 good reason that open air was far better than 
 damp interiors. My stock of coal was fast 
 diminishing ; even the dry wood in the big shed 
 was beginning to dwindle, and green wood only 
 produced smoke — not heat I We tried it. 
 
 But to return to our patients ; few, if any, of 
 the twenty men in the downstairs wards had the 
 slightest notion where they were. Delirium, 
 which commenced almost immediately they fell 
 asleep, was constant and continued for several 
 weeks. To their appeals for water we replied 
 promptly at all times, but never gave it pure, 
 always one third red wine. Besides the wine 
 four drops tincture of iodine diluted in water 
 and taken internally as disinfectant, the "Po- 
 tion de Todd", which I fancy contained some 
 spirituous stimulant, figured very largely in 
 our treatment. In cases where the heart weak- 
 ened, hypodermic injections of camphorated 
 oil were administered frequently. 
 
 The most important feature of our regime, 
 however, was the baths. We were fortunate in 
 having spring water piped into the house, and 
 certain cases demanded that cloths wrung out 
 in the icy liquid, be placed at regular intervals 
 on the abdomen: other patients had to be en- 
 [156] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 tirely enveloped in cold, damp sheets; while 
 still others were placed in a bath-tub and kept 
 there until a shiver was visible on the skin. 
 
 The cloths and the sheets were an easy task, 
 but it takes more than two women to lift the 
 average man from a reclining posture, even 
 when he is willing — and certainly two nurses 
 and two orderlies were none too many to care- 
 fully transport ten, and sometimes fifteen, limp 
 bodies three times a day from bed to bath, from 
 bath to bed. There are other and simpler 
 means, I know, but they were not at our dis- 
 posal. We did as we were ordered and with 
 what we had. This rapidly developed me a 
 strong pair of biceps, but I have serious doubts 
 as to its benefit for chronic appendicitis. My 
 how my back ached the first few days ! 
 
 Naturally, other and graver complications 
 developed; things that I am not at liberty to 
 discourse upon here, but of such alarming 
 nature that one morning after his visit, the 
 doctor on leaving our last ward, shook his head 
 in a desultory fashion. 
 
 "Better tell the sergeant to look up the ad- 
 dresses of their relatives in their military 
 books." 
 
 [157] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Is it as bad as that?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Must the sergeant do it?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I should hate to receive the kind 
 of letter he is capable of writing!" 
 
 "I'm afraid you're sentimental, Madame. 
 This is war you know." 
 
 "Surely, but is there any objection to one of 
 us doing it if we can find the time?" 
 
 "Not the slightest, so long as it is done rap- 
 idly. I dislike telegraphing, it frightens people 
 so." 
 
 "Then what exactly must I say?" 
 
 "Tell them that soldier so and so is under 
 treatment at this hospital. That should they 
 feel inclined to make him a visit, we urge it to 
 be done at once, and to use this letter as a pass- 
 port to enter the army zone. Heaven knows 
 by what means they will reach here. It seems 
 only fair though to give them a chance to 
 
 try." 
 
 As I walked down the hall I heard the phar- 
 macist give an order to have our round tower 
 near the moat entirely cleaned out, and the 
 downstairs room carefully white-washed. 
 [ 158"] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "We'll use it for a mortuary chamber," was 
 his last somewhat indifferent remark. 
 
 My blood ran cold. To pass away on the 
 "Field of Honor" with the din of battle, and 
 the cries of victory ringing in one's ears, that 
 was glorious! But to slowly flicker out from 
 illness in a God-forsaken emergency hospital; 
 that was ghastly. 
 
 It should not be! We would redouble our 
 efforts, strain every nerve to help the men 
 fight for their lives by which they seemed to 
 set so little store. They were too tired. 
 
 Madame Guix and I wrote eight letters as 
 directed. There should have been nine, but on 
 looking into his military book we found that 
 one poor little chap, a volunteer because of his 
 youth, had no parents, no near relative. Only 
 his boarding-house keeper. We would wait 
 until the crisis was over before communicating 
 with her. 
 
 We hardly hoped for replies. I was there- 
 fore much astonished when three days later, a 
 tall, fine looking woman dressed in black was 
 ushered into my office. I held out my hand. 
 
 "I am Madame Godefroid. Martin Navez 
 is my brother", said she looking fearlessly into 
 [159] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 my eyes. "You wrote me to come. Am I too 
 late? Do not be afraid to tell me the truth. I 
 am strong." 
 
 What a blessing to be able to say he was still 
 alive, though, of course, far from being out of 
 danger. 
 
 Madame Godefroid gulped a sob, and two 
 bright tears of joy trickled unheeded down her 
 cheeks. "Thank God!", she said. "It is almost 
 too good to believe. Tragedies in our family 
 have been so frequent since August, I was pre- 
 pared for the worst. Poor brother, he's all I've 
 got left." 
 
 "Had you other relatives in the war?" 
 
 "Yes, four brothers." 
 
 I did not have to ask the next question, the 
 woman's expression told me that they had made 
 the Supreme Sacrifice. 
 
 "Martin is the oldest. They all did well but 
 myself. He was a rich farmer. I, unfortu- 
 nately, am only housekeeper for the Curate of 
 Nogent-sur-Marne. That's not far from 
 Paris. Monsieur le Cure got me a passport. I 
 came in a cattle car." 
 
 "You're not afraid of typhoid?" 
 
 She shook her head — "No indeed". 
 [160] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Would you care to go into the ward and see 
 your brother? I fear he will not recognise you 
 to-day. Perhaps you can come again. Will 
 you stay and have luncheon with us ? I apolo- 
 gise in advance for its simplicity, but such as it 
 is you are very welcome." 
 
 Madame Godefroid accepted, and then dis- 
 appeared accompanied by Madame Guix. 
 
 When we had finished luncheon, and the 
 others had left us, I detained her a moment over 
 our coffee cups. It was a treat to come in con- 
 tact with such a simple, well-bred, kindly soul. 
 Interest in a common cause, mutual apprehen- 
 sions, quickly created an intimacy, and from 
 her I learned that at the outbreak of the war, 
 Navez and his four brothers, all wealthy far- 
 mers, were living comfortably in the suburbs of 
 Charleville. Four of them went to the front 
 at once. Navez being fifty, was not called, 
 but his only son, a lad of eighteen, enlisted al- 
 most immediately. Brought up during the war 
 of 1870 with a keen hatred of the Hun, Navez 
 could not resist the temptation to join the 
 colors, so, leaving a wife and two daughters he 
 took service in the motor transports and had 
 seen a hard campaign. 
 
 [161] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Overworked, underfed, mentally tormented 
 by fears for his family, bowed with grief at the 
 loss of his brothers, he was a fit subject to fall 
 victim to the typhoid scourge. 
 
 "But", pursued his sister, without the slight- 
 est trace of bitterness in her voice, "Perhaps 
 he'll be sorry the Lord let him live when he 
 knows." 
 
 "Knows what?" 
 
 The woman looked straight into the fire. 
 
 "Knows that since he left the front his son 
 has been made prisoner, and that a German 
 shell not only destroyed his home, but killed his 
 wife and both daughters ; I am a poor woman, 
 I am all that he has left !" 
 
 A gentle knocking at the door broke the 
 tense silence which followed Madame Gode- 
 froid's last words. At my summons Yvonne 
 entered and said that a woman with a little 
 girl awaited me. My visitor looked up and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Don't let me detain you, Madame. I wish 
 I might stay and make myself useful, but it is 
 impossible. I will come again if I may". 
 
 "Surely, pray do not worry too much. I 
 fancy the crisis is over." 
 
 [162] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Against my will, she caught my hand and 
 kissed it. 
 
 Quite another sort of person had been shown 
 into the office. I no sooner opened the door 
 than a woman whose pent up emotions could no 
 longer stand the strain, burst into tears, and 
 sobbed, "Pierrot, my husband, my dear Pierrot, 
 he was so good to me. Oh, oh, oh!" The little 
 blonde headed child that clung to her skirts, 
 seeing her mother's distress, suddenly hid her 
 head and wailed — "Papa, my papa!" 
 
 The whole thing was most distressing, most 
 annoying. The woman, who belonged to the 
 well-to-do working class, couldn't even pull 
 herself together sufficiently to tell me her name 
 and from whence she had come. I saw the 
 moment when I should have to become severe. 
 
 "Forgive me", she sobbed. "Forgive me, 
 Madame. It's too dreadful." 
 
 "But if you would only tell me the name of 
 the patient you have come to see." 
 
 "Parent, Pierre Parent, my husband. Oh, 
 poor, poor Pierrot", she hiccoughed. "Forgive 
 me, Madame, I cannot help it." 
 
 I glanced at the list of names which the 
 sergeant had placed on my desk. Alongside 
 [163] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 each name was a note stating the degree of 
 illness. 
 
 Parent — Pierre Parent. I found it. Think- 
 ing it was useless to be otherwise than frank, 
 "Yes", said I, "He is here. Very ill but not 
 despaired of. We have every hope of saving 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Madame, for those kind 
 words." And her tears flowed afresh. 
 
 "But, calm yourself, do, since you have come 
 for his sake, you mustn't let him see your face 
 all swollen. It will only worry him and we can- 
 not allow that." 
 
 "Yes, that's it, I mustn't cry", and she wiped 
 her face and the baby girl's, all in the same 
 breath and with the same handkerchief. 
 
 "I brought Suzanne with me. She's our 
 only child. I wanted her to see her papa again, 
 perhaps it'll be the last time. He loved her 
 so!" And in spite of every effort the tears 
 flowed anew. 
 
 "I wouldn't take such a tragic view of the 
 case", I urged. "While there is life, there is 
 hope. And we will do everything in our power 
 to save him. Now go and wash your face and 
 come back again." 
 
 [164] 
 
; 
 
 MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 In a few moments she reappeared, a sight to 
 behold, for in spite of the cold water her face 
 was all puffed up, and in the hope of hiding it 
 she had added a thick layer of white powder. 
 At the sight of the long clean linen robe I 
 offered her, and which, for safety's sake, must 
 be abandoned before leaving the sick room — 
 there was a new deluge — and if her anxiety had 
 not been so intense, I should have been surely 
 tempted to smile. The tears rolled down her 
 cheeks, leaving great furrows behind them. 
 
 I rang for an orderly, and told him to con- 
 duct my guests to Madame Guix who was then 
 on duty. In less than two minutes my nurse 
 returned, saying that it would be impossible to 
 admit the child to a ward where there were 
 twenty typhoid patients. 
 
 I had never given the matter a thought. 
 
 ow stupid of me ! 
 
 "Pierrot, poor Pierrot, it would do him so 
 much good. Forgive me, Madame, — poor Su- 
 zanne" — and then followed an argument in 
 which I came out ahead only because I en- 
 trenched myself behind "The doctor's orders". 
 It was so hard to seem relentless. 
 
 The visit over, Madame Parent felt much 
 [165] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 relieved. She said her husband had recognised 
 her. While she was preparing to take her leave 
 we discovered that by the way she had come, 
 there was no return train that night, and I 
 couldn't bear to think of her riding fifteen miles 
 in a cart only to sit up all night in a little lonely 
 way-station. But she didn't seem in the least 
 to dread it. She was calmer now and so 
 ashamed of having lost control of herself. 
 Fearing, however, that the frail little girl might 
 not be able to stand the strain, I sought a means 
 of detaining them until morning. Nini and 
 Yvonne needed no begging to "Double up" 
 and offer one single bed to Madame Parent and 
 her daughter, who couldn't find words enough 
 to express their gratitude. 
 
 It was a different woman who greeted us the 
 next morning. Two nights and a day in a 
 third-class compartment together with the 
 agonizing moral suspense had completely un- 
 nerved this plucky little person, who was so 
 embarrassed at her unseeming behaviour that 
 she blushed scarlet while trying to explain it 
 to herself and me. 
 
 "We were so happy, Pierre and I, before the 
 war came. He and my brother were associated 
 [166] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 in business. We are packers and shippers at 
 Le Mans. I have tried to keep things up, my 
 father and an old workman have done what 
 they could to help me, but it is quite a load. 
 Then Jean was killed at the Marne and the 
 burden grew doubly heavy, and when I got 
 your letter I imagined Pierre was dead, and 
 you didn't want to tell me. But that's all over 
 now, he smiled at me. I told him not to worry, 
 only to get well quick, and when he gets back 
 he'll find that things have gone on just the 
 same. They must, Madame, no matter what 
 happens, else who is to look after the babies if 
 the women don't do their part?" 
 
 Simple, heroic words, so often repeated that 
 they no longer seemed extraordinary. But it 
 is such women as this that have made France 
 what she is! 
 
 The days succeeding these two visits were 
 filled with tense anxiety. Five or six of our 
 patients, among them Navez and Parent suc- 
 cessfully passed the much dreaded crisis. The 
 condition of most of the others remained sta- 
 tionary, but three or four took a decided turn 
 for the worst. A little middle-aged man called 
 Cru, from Dunkerque, who on account of his 
 [167] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 round shoulders, and long hooked nose re- 
 sembled a human interrogation point, threat- 
 ened congestion of the lungs ; Leon Lecucq, the 
 very young lad who had no one in the world 
 but his boarding-house keeper, and Jules 
 Mackerey, a handsome blonde headed fellow, 
 developed numerous sinister complications. 
 Mackerey's symptoms were particularly alarm- 
 ing on account of the rapidity with which they 
 developed. As to Bonson, the tall, gaunt, 
 artilleryman who had so frightened me the 
 night of my first vigil, nothing in the world 
 could keep him in bed, and I heartily thanked 
 Heaven his ward was on the ground floor, for 
 several times we caught him opening the win- 
 dow and preparing to wander away, clothed 
 but in his nightshirt. When put back, he 
 would murmur something in Basque (as I 
 learned afterwards) and stare at a fixed spot 
 just beyond our heads. 
 
 Monsieur Cru, as we all called him, (he was 
 the only one we ever addressed other than by 
 his christian or surname, why I cannot tell) 
 was less delirious than the other and extremely 
 easy to care for. We had no difficulty what- 
 ever in getting him to submit to our very heroic 
 [ 168] 
 
V I 
 
 THE COLLEGE DOOR, SOI9SON9 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 treatment. I can still hear his high pitched 
 tenor voice wavering — "C'est pour mon bien" 
 — it's all for my good, whenever we did any- 
 thing that was particularly disagreeable to him. 
 Happy philosopher ! 
 
 Leon Lecucq, on arriving and while waiting 
 to be bathed had caught up a novel that hap- 
 pened to be lying on the vestibule table, and 
 from that moment throughout his entire illness 
 refused to let go of it. What he imagined it 
 was, I really couldn't say, but when we would 
 approach his bed and uncover him for his bath 
 he would draw himself up into a little bunch, 
 and putting his book beneath him, sputter some 
 indefinable phrases at whoever tried to take it 
 from him. It was almost pitch-battle three 
 times a day. 
 
 The arrival of Bonson's mother was the only 
 thing that for an instant distracted our atten- 
 tion from our somewhat gloomy situation. 
 The little, dark-skinned Basque woman, wear- 
 ing her native costume and carrying a heavy 
 market basket on either arm, had journeyed all 
 the way from the Spanish border to embrace 
 her only child. She spoke little or no French, 
 but if one were to judge from her expression, 
 [169] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 she was entirely master of her sentiments. 
 They were hidden deep down in her heart, and 
 not meant for public display. She gently 
 kissed her big, suffering boy who failed to 
 recognise her, emptied the fresh eggs, butter 
 and apples from her baskets, put them at my 
 disposal, and then went her way leaving behind 
 a very agreeable impression. 
 
 The gravity of the situation demanded the 
 constant presence of our doctor who never 
 went beyond the gates of our property for 
 nearly six weeks. His reports were telephoned 
 to headquarters, who in return sent us news of 
 all kinds, the chief item of interest being the 
 announcement that a new orderly, an extra, 
 was shortly to join the contingent already at 
 the chateau. 
 
 The arrival of a recruit such as Barbarin was 
 to us much like a gift from the Gods. He put 
 new life and spirit into our overworked staff, 
 who for the moment were somewhat worn out 
 by long vigils and our ever increasing demands 
 upon their strength. 
 
 Short of stature, quick of movement, with a 
 pair of bright eyes and an exceptionally mobile 
 countenance, Barbarin with his many gestures 
 [170] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 made us think of those masks belonging to the 
 famous "Comedia dell' Arte." 
 
 "Where do you come from?" I questioned. 
 
 "Vaname" , was the brief reply. 
 
 I still looked askance. That particular point 
 in France was unknown to me. Barbarin saw 
 my quandary. 
 
 "Eh bien, quoi — Pantruche!" 
 
 I was no wiser than before, and he knew it, 
 so bursting with a rippling laugh, 
 
 "That means Paris, of course." 
 
 I might have guessed it. Who in the world 
 but a Parisian could possess that love of in- 
 trigue. 
 
 "What is your trade?" 
 
 "I don't belong to the trade." 
 "You have sufficient fortune not to need one?" 
 
 That was indeed a diplomatic stroke on my 
 part, and a surprise even to Barbarin. He put 
 one hand into his pocket and with the other 
 stroked his beardless chin, and wondered 
 whether or not I was chaffing him. He decided 
 to try me out. 
 
 "That depends on what day it is." 
 
 "Oh, I see", said I catching his thought, 
 "Then you follow a liberal career?" 
 [171] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Yes", came the answer accompanied by a 
 broad smile. 
 
 "Which one, might I ask?" 
 
 "The stage." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Yes, just before the war broke out, I was 
 chief super at the Theatre de Belleville." 
 
 I had great difficulty controlling my counte- 
 nance. One reads about such people in books, 
 of which Private Gaspard is a brilliant ex- 
 ample, but seldom or ever hopes to come into 
 actual contact with the real thing. 
 
 "Are you married?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And your salary as super is sufficient to 
 keep a wife, perhaps a family?" 
 
 This may seem like a very bald interrogatory, 
 but to the average "poilu" of Barb arm's class, 
 it is on the contrary an appreciable mark of 
 interest. 
 
 "Ah, I couldn't live on that alone, but one 
 must be versatile in this age. I used to do a 
 very good business in toy rabbits." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You know those little rabbits that jump 
 when you squeeze a rubber ball." 
 [172] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Of course, I had seen them many times sold 
 by hawkers beneath the arcades on the Rue de 
 Rivoli. I nodded my assent. 
 
 "They were good for a while, but last year 
 trade was running low, and nobody seemed to 
 invent anything new that was just as good, so 
 in the daytime I took to doing wrestling 
 matches with a friend on the public squares up 
 by Belleville." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "In July he got a sunstroke which laid him 
 up, so I taught tango for a while, and then the 
 war came along and I didn't have to look for 
 another job." 
 
 "Have you been to the front?" 
 
 Barbarin proudly displayed a right hand on 
 which the index finger was lacking. 
 
 "Battle of the Marne", he continued glibly. 
 "'Only time I ever regretted being born with 
 legs! Wheels would have made it so much 
 easier." 
 
 His sincerity was as amusing as his good 
 humour was infectious. He didn't seem to re- 
 quire any instructions. In two hours' time he 
 had visited the chateau in detail, joked with 
 the help in the kitchen, and pronounced his 
 [173] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 opinion on the final issue of not only the war, 
 but each and every case of typhoid in our 
 wards. 
 
 Gentle in his movements, performing the 
 most obnoxious duties with a smile and a caus- 
 tic remark, he soon endeared himself not only 
 to the officers and the staff, but to the sick men 
 themselves, on account of his apparent intense 
 interest in their individual cases. He had a 
 kind word for all and was unsparing in time 
 and pains so long as they aided in procuring the 
 slightest pleasure to a patient. 
 
 "Barbarin, give me a cigarette", pleaded a 
 semi-convalescent to whose similar request the 
 doctor had made a negative gesture. 
 
 "You're too young", was the amiable reply, 
 far less aggravating than a flat refusal. 
 
 "Barbarin, did you ever have typhoid?", 
 questioned a long, thin man whose feet stuck 
 out beyond the iron bars of the bed. 
 
 "Surely, three times when I was a kid, that's 
 why I never grew any taller. You've got 
 nothing to worry about!" 
 
 "Barbarin, my bed's so hot, can't you do 
 something for it?" wailed another. 
 
 "Just wait till Spring comes, old man, and 
 [174] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 then we'll put you out on the lawn", was the 
 cheerful response. 
 
 And so it went, day in and day out regard- 
 less of atmosphere or surroundings, a really 
 admirable untarrying source of good humour. 
 But it was in ward number three, our desperate 
 cases, that Barbarin was at his zenith. He be- 
 gan by carefully scrutinising, first the name 
 cards tied to the foot of the beds, and then the 
 persons to whom the designations belonged. 
 Evidently deciding that the two did not go har- 
 moniously together, he rebaptized every pa- 
 tient according to his own peculiar fantasy, and 
 presently, in spite of ourselves, we were using 
 his terms in preference to our own. 
 
 Monsieur Cru became "the bric-a-brac from 
 Dunkerque", Lecucq was tenderly dubbed 
 "Dudule", Bonson "The Basque", and Mack- 
 erey "The suspect". 
 
 The human interrogation point, who had left 
 his sense of humour behind him, in his china- 
 store when he joined the ranks, probably only 
 half relished Barbarin's somewhat disrespectful 
 levity, but as we tolerated it, he was too polite 
 to complain. 
 
 As long as I live I shall see Barbarin stand- 
 [175] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ing holding a basin of cold water into which 
 Monsieur Cru was plunging his burning, ema- 
 ciated hands and arms. 
 
 " Think of all the heat that's wasted with 
 these fevers and coal is so dear too", rambled on 
 the Extra as he absently surveyed his patient. 
 Then suddenly looking down he continued, 
 "Oh, la, la, you couldn't have been any too 
 handsome as a civilian, our uniform probably 
 didn't add much to your beauty, but as a pa- 
 tient you're a fright. For the Lord's sake 
 hurry up and get well." 
 
 When he found out Lecucq's isolation in the 
 world, he was immediately drawn towards him, 
 and his voice would change to a caressing fal- 
 setto as he would bend over the half conscious 
 body that the relentless fever was slowly con- 
 suming. 
 
 "Poor kid", he would murmur. "Hardly 
 out of his swaddling clothes, let alone knowing 
 how to take care of himself", and then as our 
 treatment demanded that none of these men be 
 left lying long in the same position, Barbarin 
 would gently put his hands beneath the boy's 
 body and lift him high into the air, while he 
 smoothed his sheets. 
 
 [176] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "That's it, come to Mother. Now then be a 
 good boy, nobody's going to hurt you", and 
 similar phrases were literally cooed into Du- 
 dule's ears. 
 
 Mackerey's heart was one of his numerous 
 weak points, and was only kept in motion by 
 means of stimulants such as caffeine, alter- 
 nated with hypodermics of camphorated oil, 
 and each time one of us would approach with 
 the needle, Barbarin's presentiment told him 
 that the man was slowly sinking, and instinc- 
 tively he used every physical and moral effort 
 to snatch him from the brink of eternity. 
 
 "Whoa there!" he would say, as he dabbed 
 a spot with iodine in preparation for the prick. 
 "Whoa there, isn't our company good enough 
 for you that you're so anxious to leave us? 
 Hold on a minute, we need you to cheer when 
 the boys come home victorious. This is no time 
 to let go the banisters." 
 
 But his efforts, as well as ours, were useless. 
 Mackerey grew slowly weaker and weaker, re- 
 sistance was less and less evident. On the 
 doctor's advice a telegram was transmitted 
 through headquarters to his family who lived 
 near Arras, urging some one to come. From 
 [177] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 the religious medals and his rosary we knew 
 that our patient was a Roman Catholic, so the 
 priest was sent for, who gave the dying man 
 absolution and offered up a prayer. 
 
 In spite of all, I could not believe that we 
 would not save him, and the doctor, Barbarin 
 and I never left his bedside for a moment. It 
 was evident M acker ey was unconscious for the 
 lines in his face softened; I even imagined a 
 faint smile was on his lips. In the stillness of 
 the midnight hour his breathing grew easier, 
 and I turned to the fire for an instant's repose. 
 Barbarin took my place, and a second later 
 when I faced about I could see the little come- 
 dian who seating himself on the dying man's 
 bed, half raised him to an upright posture, and 
 putting his hands on his shoulders gently shook 
 him while he said in short impassioned tones 
 — "You shan't go, old man, you shan't, do you 
 hear ! We need you, France needs you !" 
 
 At three o'clock I was relieved. I went re- 
 luctantly, but nothing, not even the menace of 
 court martial would persuade Barbarin to 
 leave his post. 
 
 "Ce riest pas chic — ce n'est pas chic" , he 
 remonstrated, and so he remained. 
 [178] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I could not rest. At six o'clock I dressed 
 and went below. It was still almost dark but 
 when I entered the ward I could see that the 
 sheet on Mackerey's bed had been drawn close 
 up to the head board. Neither doctor nor 
 nurse was present. Over by the fire, his elbow 
 on his knee, his head resting in the palm of his 
 hand, sat Barbarin, gazing steadily into the 
 dying embers. He turned about as I entered. 
 
 "He left us just after you went", was all he 
 said. 
 
 [179] 
 
VII 
 
 For many reasons it was deemed advisable 
 to hold the funeral next morning. It would 
 then be December twenty-fourth, and it hardly 
 seemed right that Christmas for all those who 
 remained, no matter how mild the celebration, 
 be overcast by the shadow of Death. 
 
 Late in the afternoon a little old white- 
 haired peasant, wearing a long-out-of-date 
 frock coat was admitted to my office. He was 
 Mackerey's father. It was a difficult thing 
 to tell him he had come too late, and though no 
 sound escaped when I broke the sad news, the 
 glance that darted from his clear blue eyes, 
 made me feel like an executioner. 
 
 We escorted him to the round tower where 
 the mortal remains had been transferred, and 
 both Madame Guix and I were moved to tears 
 by the old man's silent grief. Drawing down 
 the sheet he kissed the dead lad on the forehead 
 and murmured. 
 
 "He was all I had." 
 
 These were the only words that ever escaped 
 him. 
 
 [180] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 To our offers of finding room for him until 
 the morrow, he only shook his head. Even the 
 invitation to be present when the coffin should 
 be closed, was refused. He seemed to have a 
 subtle horror of the place, as of everything 
 that had witnessed the passing of his son, and 
 disappeared down the village road without in- 
 forming us whether or not he would ever re- 
 turn. 
 
 Contrary to its usual custom, the sun rose 
 clear and bright in the morning sky. It seemed 
 almost to mock our sorrow, to urge us to look 
 forward to the glories of another day, not back- 
 ward upon sufferings now past. It made the 
 hoar frost glisten like diamonds in the rare 
 leaves still clinging to the trees, and the ma- 
 jestic pines stood out black against the brilliant 
 blue, forming a velvety background for the 
 facade of the chateau nestling almost at their 
 feet. 
 
 The ceremony was set for eight o'clock, but 
 by half past seven the court yard was full of vil- 
 lagers who in their Sunday clothes had come to 
 pay their humble tribute to this unknown son 
 of France, anxious to show in any way they 
 could their appreciation of his great sacrifice. 
 [181] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Flowers, we had none, nor was there any way 
 of procuring them. Not a green house existed 
 in the army zone, so Madame Guix and Made- 
 moiselle Alice, twined a large wreath of ivy 
 which they gathered from the wall. Later on 
 some little girls brought in three or four half 
 blown geraniums, the only fresh flowers in the 
 village, gathered from the window-box at the 
 schoolhouse. 
 
 Monsieur Duguey, schoolmaster and vil- 
 lage clerk, loaned the flag from the town-hall 
 to cover the coffin, and we were all astonished at 
 his uncontrollable emotion as he placed it on 
 the bier. Great tears streamed down his 
 cheeks, it seemed as though he were fore- 
 warned that his only son who had just gone to 
 the front, would one day be buried with like 
 ceremony. 
 
 On the flag was placed the soldier's topcoat 
 and kepi, together with our wreath, and the 
 tiny bunch of flowers. For the occasion, our 
 four orderlies who still belonged to the active 
 service, abandoned their aprons and after bur- 
 nishing up their guns and trappings, consti- 
 tuted themselves guard of honour. 
 
 At ten minutes of eight we could hear the 
 [182] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 even tramp of soldiers' feet on the highroad, 
 and George came in to announce that one hun- 
 dred convalescent, or slightly wounded sol- 
 diers from the convent-hospital at Charly, had 
 asked and obtained permission to march four 
 miles to our gate, in order to conduct their 
 brother in arms to his last resting-place. 
 
 Sharply at eight the little bell in our Church 
 began tolling the dirge, and as our officers ap- 
 peared on the steps a wounded corporal 
 stepped from among the visiting troops and 
 conferred a minute with the guard of honour 
 who stood on either side of the steps leading 
 into the round tower. As the door opened and 
 the flag draped coffin appeared, the corporal's 
 voice rang out clear in the morning air. 
 
 "Present arms!" 
 
 The boys' rifles clicked into position. 
 
 Slowly the coffin was borne down the step 
 and carried towards the gate, followed by the 
 dead man's father who had mysteriously re- 
 turned. Behind him our officers walked erect 
 the sun catching in their gold braided uniforms, 
 while directly succeeding them the three 
 nurses, Madame Guix, Mademoiselle Alice and 
 myself, took our places. Our long dark capes 
 [183] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and flowing white head-dress gave a mediaeval 
 touch to the picture, making it almost theat- 
 rical in its effect, and as I looked back I could 
 see the villagers two by two had fallen into line 
 behind the soldiers, while from the windows 
 leaned the orderlies left in charge of the hos- 
 pital. 
 
 The little church was filled to overflowing, 
 and at the graveside the troops once again 
 rendered homage to the glorious defunct. "Re- 
 quiescat in pace", murmured the priest, as the 
 first shovelful of earth was cast in. At the 
 same moment the little black coated figure 
 swayed pitifully. Madame Guix and I 
 bounded forward, each one catching him by 
 an arm ; but he had mastered himself. 
 
 Now that all ceremony was over the soldiers 
 were ordered not to stay any longer on the 
 damp ground. And presently the only ones 
 remaining to see the grave covered over were 
 the boy's father, Madame Guix and myself, to 
 whom he clung pathetically. 
 
 "We'll go back to the house at once," said I 
 when finally we moved away. "I'll give you 
 something to brace you up before you start 
 on your journey." 
 
 [ 184 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 "Why wont you come?" 
 He refused to give an explanation but re- 
 mained firm in his decision of leaving at once. 
 Seeing this, Madame Guix pulled from beneath 
 her cape the little personal trinkets which had 
 been found in Mackerey's pockets; his military 
 book, a photograph or two, together with his 
 rosary, and a lock of his hair which she had cut 
 off and added to the neatly done up parcel. 
 "Will you carry these to his mother?" 
 The little old man nodded assent, took the 
 package and without another word turned and 
 started up the road. We stood and watched 
 him out of sight. 
 
 At the chateau life continued much the same 
 as before and apparently I was the only one 
 sensible of any difference in the situation. Our 
 failure to save Mackerey's life, the reproachful 
 look in his father's eyes made me feel as though 
 I had been personally responsible for his case, 
 and now that the tension was over, I could not 
 find courage to go on from where we had left 
 off. 
 
 In the afternoon I ached to get away from 
 it all, and by careful changes in our diagram, 
 [185] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 managed to obtain two hours leave. Taking 
 the dogs, every one of them, I started down the 
 long alley, my thoughts travelling even faster 
 than my feet, and though at the outset I had 
 no determined destination, I unconsciously 
 found myself visiting the favourite spots where 
 H. and I had spent so many happy hours to- 
 gether. Now I was seated on a marble bench 
 gazing up at the skeletons of lime trees that 
 touched each other cathedral like above my 
 head ; now I found myself wandering down by 
 our tiny river, scanning the every contour of 
 a giant oak he had so often planned painting, 
 and presently I was climbing to the very sum- 
 mit of our grounds, the dogs capering and 
 yelping before me. Why I abandoned the 
 regular path, I cannot tell. I seemed to be 
 running a race with the jfale yellow sun that 
 was fast sinking behind the hills. Struggling, 
 panting, gloriously victorious physically, but 
 mentally tortured by fearful misgivings, I 
 reached the top of the hill just as the sun shot 
 its last resplendent rays from the West, bath- 
 ing me in a pale gold sheen, and transforming 
 every ripple on the far distant Marne into a 
 tongue of light. It was like a fleeting glimpse 
 [186] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 of Eternity and I stood motionless for many 
 minutes as the fast rolling dark blue clouds 
 swiftly swept the vision from my view. A 
 long rumble in the distance, a vivid reminder 
 of stern realities brought me to myself. I 
 winked hard, and then looked about me, liter- 
 ally unconscious of where I was. In a second 
 the spell was broken, and drawing my cape 
 closer I hurried towards a beaten path, anxious 
 not to be overtaken by the darkness. Suddenly 
 I stopped. What was that just before me? A 
 mound ? No such thing had hitherto been there. 
 Leaning forward, my eyes piercing the twilight 
 I gradually discerned a humble wooden cross. 
 
 A grave, a soldier's grave right here on my 
 own property, and I had not known it. In- 
 stinctively I felt it was not a German. Who 
 were the gallant defenders of my home ? In an 
 instant I could touch the cap that swung from 
 the apex of the cross. Beaten by every element 
 for more than four months now, it no longer 
 had a shape, all that I could tell was that it was 
 British. I strained my eyes to read the inscrip- 
 tion that had been written in pencil. It was 
 blurred beyond deciphering. 
 
 To-morrow, I planned, we would come again 
 [187] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 and try to read it, and bring with us a humble 
 token of our gratitude, a wreath of ivy. 
 
 Night had enveloped me in darkness before I 
 reached home, and coming towards the refec- 
 tory wing, great peals of laughter greeted me 
 from that direction. Lamplight gleamed 
 through the uncurtained windows, and loathe 
 to break in upon the merriment I hesitated be- 
 fore opening the door. From where I stood I 
 caught sight of Barbarin perched on the long 
 dining-room table juggling with a handful of 
 oranges, much to the delight of my entire 
 domestic staff, and the "Heavenly Twins" who 
 were off duty. A second later, the inside door 
 opened and Yvonne and Nini appeared with a 
 turkish bathrobe in which they promptly en- 
 veloped the juggler, while Chou and Theirage 
 handed him a beard and moustache wrought 
 out of a roll of absorbent cotton. 
 
 "Pere Noel ! Pere Noel ! Santa Claus !" they 
 all shrieked with delight while assisting him to 
 glue on the beard with the white of an egg, and 
 to hoist a grape picker's basket full of oranges 
 to his shoulders. Barbarin danced from one 
 end of that long refectory table to the other, 
 and when finally exhausted, they helped him 
 [188] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 down and started him on his rounds distribut- 
 ing the meagre presents they had been able to 
 procure. 
 
 I met him in the vestibule on his return trip, 
 his robe dragging on the floor behind him, his 
 basket empty, his countenance radiant with the 
 joy of success. My presence must have sud- 
 denly recalled the anxious hours of the night 
 just past, for his face dropped as he approached 
 me, and with a seriousness that was most ludi- 
 crous when one considered his attitude and 
 garb, he explained — 
 
 "It seemed my duty to cheer them up a bit, 
 otherwise they'd all have died of gloom." 
 
 Save for a little impromptu merry-making in 
 the kitchen Christmas came and went unat- 
 tended by any happening of note. The guns 
 on our immediate front rolled longer and 
 louder than I had ever heard them before. At 
 moments it was really alarming: what little 
 china and glassware we possessed, danced on 
 their shelves in the cupboards, and such of our 
 window panes as remained, tinkled and fell to 
 the ground, later to be replaced by sheets of 
 oiled paper. 
 
 A half dozen patients in the upstairs wards 
 [189] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 suddenly developed disquieting symptoms, 
 while below we had a hand to hand struggle 
 with death, which seemed destined to carry off 
 little "Dudule". It might be truly said that 
 Madame Guix literally forced the breath of 
 life into his slender delicate body, too exhausted 
 to carry on the combat. Night and day she 
 worked over him as though resentful of the 
 other's slipping beyond her control, and we 
 were well into the new year before the danger 
 mark was passed, and our patients entered 
 upon their convalescence. 
 
 It was after this happy stage had been 
 reached that I cast aside my nurse's garb and 
 assumed the housewife's apron. Until now the 
 domestic side of hospital life had demanded but 
 trifling attention. It had been easy for our 
 cooks to procure sufficient food for the house- 
 hold and the staff ; our patients had taken little 
 or nothing solid, but forewarned of their on- 
 coming voracity, I realised it was high time to 
 prepare. 
 
 The rapidity with which we had become a 
 
 typhoid hospital had hardly permitted us to 
 
 ascertain for just which post the four men I 
 
 had been allowed to retain, were best fitted. 
 
 [190] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Luckily they were intelligent and readily 
 adapted themselves to their surroundings. 
 The "Heavenly Twins" developed into excel- 
 lent general house workers, "Chou" even going 
 so far as to darn the officers' socks. Dubuis, 
 though it had been some time since he had stood 
 over a stove, had once been chief steward in an 
 Officers' Club at Noyon, so naturally his tend- 
 encies were towards the culinary department, 
 where he was seconded by Grantot, an engraver 
 of silver, and Maria Colin a one time Parisian 
 charwoman, who hearing of my plight had 
 secured a passport and come straight out "to do 
 her bit", refusing any remuneration for her 
 services. 
 
 Decidedly Dubuis had a genius for organ- 
 ising, for when finally I took over the reins I 
 found there was nothing left for me to do but 
 follow out his well laid plans. In fact he had 
 far surpassed anything I had ever hoped to 
 attain, his past experience, not only as a stew- 
 ard, but as proprietor of a dairy products shop 
 in the immediate suburbs of Paris, fitting him 
 wonderfully well not only to deal with the local 
 tradespeople, but even with the wariest of peas- 
 ants. 
 
 [191] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 Unwilling to worry me at a time when he 
 knew I most needed encouragement, but ang- 
 ered by the dealings of one of the provincial 
 butchers, he resolved it would be wiser for us 
 to raise our own cattle. There was plenty of 
 room in the stables, besides hay in the lofts and 
 mangles in the cellar, so writing to his wife to 
 send him sufficient funds, he gladly risked them 
 against my displeasure, and his own compe- 
 tence as a buyer. 
 
 Making arrangements to be gone overnight, 
 he took old Cesar and descended into the Brie 
 country, returning the next day with a surpris- 
 ing number of bullocks and sheep, two milch 
 cows and a half dozen pigs. 
 
 His great forte lay in the buying, selling and 
 exchanging of our cattle and their products, 
 besides making the hospital independent of any 
 dealer. 
 
 Milk, butter and cheese soon became home 
 produce, and what we could not consume was 
 either marketed once a week for cash at Cha- 
 teau Thierry, or exchanged for fresh vegetables 
 or eggs. 
 
 Oranges and salt fish were bought at whole- 
 sale in Paris by his wife, shipped direct by rail 
 [192] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 to Headquarters where they were met by our 
 cart, unloaded, reloaded and dragged eleven 
 miles to Villiers. It was a great deal of work 
 but so well systematised that we barely felt the 
 strain, and were deeply grateful for his varied 
 bill of fare. 
 
 Everything was done with a smile. Those 
 who worked with him adored and feared him; 
 those with whom he dealt were the same. It 
 was thanks to Dubuis, that I was one day 
 offered the pleasing spectacle of our chief 
 steward, our far famed, vice hardened poacher, 
 and our gendarme (his sworn enemy) coming 
 down the road arm in arm, discussing recent 
 events as though twenty years of enmity and 
 hatred had never existed. 
 
 New Year's week witnessed a great improve- 
 ment in all of the wards. Several of the lighter 
 cases entered into the convalescent period, 
 while upstairs our anxiety was greatly relieved 
 by a decided turn for the better. As to our 
 severe cases, while the actual crisis was passed, 
 our patients were so feeble that complications 
 were still to be feared, and as time went on and 
 their conditions ameliorated, it was intensely 
 interesting to see them open their eyes and look 
 [193] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 about them as though in a totally strange place, 
 while in reality they had been in the same wards 
 for weeks. 
 
 Monsieur Cru was the first to put order into 
 his mental state, and one morning asked us the 
 day of the week and month we were in. His 
 astonishment when we told him it was January, 
 1915, was such that I feared for a moment lest 
 he question his own sanity. 
 
 "But my wife, what on earth will she say to 
 me? I promised to write her every week. 
 Maybe she thinks I'm dead." 
 
 "No, she doesn't old man", cheerfully re- 
 sponded Barbarin, "We saw to that." 
 
 The next moment he began feeling all over 
 his body as though he had lost something, and 
 then nearly burst into tears. 
 
 "They've stolen her picture and my watch", 
 he moaned, "How dreadful, she'll never forgive 
 me." 
 
 "Hold on, not so swift my lad," retorted 
 Barbarin. "You seem to forget that for nearly 
 a week every time we put them under your 
 pillow, you pulled them out and threw them on 
 the floor. If you'll wait just a second I'll come 
 over to your night table and get them for 
 [194] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 you." Monsieur Cm was much abashed and 
 relieved. 
 
 "I? I did that", he murmured, "How dis- 
 respectful." 
 
 "A darn nuisance I thought at the time", 
 rejoined Barbarin producing the much cher- 
 ished articles. 
 
 The "Bric-a-brac from Dunkerque" care- 
 fully scrutinized all the "Bibelots" and mur- 
 mured, "Yes, they're all here, both her picture 
 and the girls." 
 
 "Where'd you suppose they'd be? Did you 
 think I took 'em? What on earth would I 
 want with your wife's picture, I've got one of 
 my own." 
 
 "I didn't mean that, I didn't mean that", 
 promptly protested the little man, "No offence 
 intended, really." And then by way of making 
 peace he held up the photograph of a woman 
 and invited Barbarin's attention. 
 
 "Don't you think she's handsome?" 
 
 What on earth could the poor man do but 
 reply in the affirmative? 
 
 "And here are the girls," continued the thin 
 wavering voice. "Such lovely children." 
 
 Barbarin looked once, then again, and finally 
 [195] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 took the picture in his hand for closer inspec- 
 tion. 
 
 "How old are they?", he queried at length. 
 
 "Eighteen and twenty-two." 
 
 "How old are you?" 
 
 "Thirty-four." 
 
 Barbarin shrugged his shoulders in dis- 
 may. Until that moment he had rejoiced in 
 Monsieur Cru's return to health, but now con- 
 vinced of his mental inefficiency, he didn't even 
 try to argue. 
 
 "Don't you think you'd better lie down? 
 You've talked enough for to-day. No use 
 overdoing." 
 
 "I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm not", 
 he gasped as Barbarin gently pressed him back 
 on his pillows, "If you'd given me time I would 
 have told you. I married a young widow three 
 years ago." Monsieur Cru laid special stress 
 on the word young. 
 
 Barbarin could no longer contain himself, his 
 hands on his sides, he laughed until he cried, 
 much to his patient's dismay. 
 
 With the gradual return of his appetite 
 Monsieur Cru became more and more exact- 
 ing in his demands. It was evident the young 
 [196] 
 

 
 
 
 tl .W-, >-. jg«tw^ 
 
 ; 4«liy--^ 
 
 - < 
 
 
 "YOU UNDERSTAND, MADAME, YOU ARE 
 IN THE TRENCHES, YOU ARE HUNGRY, 
 THE DINNER IS LATE IN COMING" 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 widow had realised his fondness for food, and 
 had very cleverly taken advantage of it. The 
 necessary simplicity of our diet was a constant 
 source of distress and dissertation. He would 
 sit for hours talking about "Tasty dishes", 
 sometimes smacking his lips in apprehension, 
 but always philosophically concluding — 
 
 "What's the use of talking about it all? 
 This war has completely ruined my digestion. 
 I'll never be the same again." 
 
 "It's a pity about you", murmured our 
 "Extra". 
 
 Evidently our patient was seeking to work 
 out the exact, direct cause of his illness, which 
 he finally traced back to his irregular meals. 
 
 "You understand, Madame, you are in the 
 trenches, you are hungry, the dinner is late in 
 coming. You just get nicely started when 
 Eing! another attack. By the time you get 
 back, your food is cold. The only day we 
 were lucky enough to have chicken, a four inch 
 shell burst right over us. Killed two and 
 wounded two more. You can say what you 
 like, but a thing like that takes your appetite 
 away. I couldn't eat a mouthful until night. 
 Ah, war is wonderful, but it does change our 
 [197] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 habits so. At home my wife used to bring me 
 my chocolate in my bed — " 
 
 A repressed, but audible, giggle arose from 
 the corner where our orderly was busy with 
 another patient. 
 
 Monsieur Cru continued, ignoring the insult, 
 
 "On the front at the time you usually expect 
 chocolate, you get tinned pork and beans, or 
 sardines." 
 
 "What's the use of expecting? You should 
 worry. The first three years of the war we'll 
 have to get on with indigestion, after that when 
 we're thoroughly organised, both sides'll agree 
 to knock off an hour at noon for luncheon. I 
 promise you if I'm there then I'll see that it 
 is done", was Barbarin's irrelevant reply, which 
 silenced the "Bric-a-brac" who went on nod- 
 ding his head and thinking in silence. 
 
 Dudule's first sign of real consciousness was 
 evinced the morning he threw his much cher- 
 ished novel from the coverlet where Barbarin 
 had carefully placed it. 
 
 "What's this you're trying to put into my 
 bed? No wonder I'm sore." He laughed 
 faintly when we told him how much store he 
 had set by the now abandoned book. 
 [198] 
 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Well, I'll read it just so soon as my eyes 
 get strong enough. There must be some- 
 thing worth while in it since I hung on to it 
 so tight." 
 
 The youngest of all our patients, he who 
 had been the least resistant. The malady had 
 ravaged his physique, he was merely skin and 
 bones, his great brown eyes standing out in his 
 countenance like those of a young swallow 
 still in the nest. But he was prompt to react, 
 and thanks to daily hypodermics of a wonder- 
 ful new serum sent down from Headquarters, 
 he was soon able to be about. 
 
 "Ah, la, la," sighed Barbarin, who now had 
 a moment's leisure to stretch himself in front 
 of the fire, "I used up a new pair of slippers 
 just running for you." 
 
 The timid boy blushed scarlet and murmured 
 an apology. He was grateful, infinitely grate- 
 ful for everything we had done for him, and 
 never missed an occasion to say so. 
 
 "And Marguerite, what the devil is her ad- 
 dress?, I couldn't find it anywhere. For the 
 Lord's sake hurry up and write her you're still 
 in the land of the living." 
 
 "Who told you her name is Marguerite?", 
 [199] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 snapped Dudule, thereby betraying what he 
 most wished to hide. 
 
 "Who told me? You did." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Why you've been screaming about her for 
 over a month now. There's only one thing 
 left for you to do. Just as soon as your pins 
 get steady, go and marry her. Better not let 
 her come to see you right away either, or she'll 
 never consent. You're still more dead than 
 alive. Why, two weeks ago to-day they took 
 your measure for a coffin." 
 
 This was pushing the pleasantry a little far 
 but Dudule was equal to the situation. Turn- 
 ing to me, he demanded — 
 
 "I'm too young to be a corpse, am I not, Ma- 
 dame?" 
 
 I nodded my assent. I could not believe it 
 possible that the war would not be over by the 
 time he had been entirely restored to health. 
 But who can prophesy? 
 
 A year later a black bordered letter signed 
 Marguerite Lecucq, told me that Dudule had 
 passed on the Field of Honor during the battle 
 of the Somme, leaving his nineteen year old 
 widow with an infant son to support. 
 [200] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Once again the food question loomed in the 
 distance. For the moment, however, we were 
 obliged to keep very strict watch to prevent 
 the convalescents from infringing on our diet 
 laws. It was most difficult for an appetite 
 is a hard thing to curb, and I feared lest 
 pressure be brought to bear upon one or 
 another of our orderlies, who ignorant of the 
 gravity of the situation, might procure some 
 long craved edible, thereby causing a catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 Naturally unsuspicious, I was, nevertheless, 
 surprised to see a soldier whisk something be- 
 neath his counterpane, when I unexpectedly 
 opened the door into a ward. 
 
 "What is it?" I queried, shaking a warning 
 finger. "Sweetmeats?" It was just possible 
 that a parcel had arrived and been distributed 
 uncensored. 
 
 "No, Madame, really". 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing?" I put my hand onto something 
 
 lumpy that moved a trifle. In an instant I had 
 
 whipped off the coverlet much to the sick man's 
 
 dismay, and my surprised gaze was met by a 
 
 [201] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 pair of round brown button eyes that belonged 
 to Betsy — my Boston bull. 
 
 "Oh, please don't take her away", pleaded 
 the soldier. "Gamant had her yesterday. It's 
 my turn to-day. She's been such a comfort to 
 us all. She seems to understand everything we 
 tell her. This room has planned decorating 
 her for devotion, just as soon as we can get 
 about", and that is how Betsy became a hero- 
 ine, the proud possessor of a tin-foil medal! 
 
 In certain wards the men gradually began 
 helping themselves, leaving us a few hours 
 breathing space each day. I was all for send- 
 ing Madame Guix on a vacation, she was ter- 
 ribly run-down and suffered agonies from an 
 abscess beneath her arm, though, of course, she 
 never mentioned it. 
 
 Her reply to any such argument was that 
 my condition was not much better than her's, 
 that it was my turn first, and so forth, to all of 
 which I naturally turned a deaf ear. 
 
 So accustomed had we become to our work 
 that we missed the strain under which we had 
 laboured, and our relaxation was most fatigu- 
 ing. We had not long to wait though, for quite 
 unexpectedly we received a visit from the mede- 
 [202] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 cin chef, who descended upon the hospital with- 
 out a moment's warning. 
 
 This caused quite a flurry among the mili- 
 tary "Infirmiers", Godec among others, for 
 whom the word efficiency must have been 
 synonymous with smell, for he dashed up- 
 stairs and snatching our precious bottle of dis- 
 infectant from the shelf — distributed its con- 
 tents so generously on the floors of the wards 
 that all my patients were coughing when the 
 doctor arrived. 
 
 We were approved of. We had done so 
 well that on leaving, the Grand Chef informed 
 me that I was to choose forty men who could 
 travel, and he would make arrangements to 
 have them finish their convalescence in the 
 interior of France. 
 
 "You must make room for others who need 
 your care more than these do now." 
 
 Two days later the list on my table bore two 
 score new names and the hospital registered 
 complet. 
 
 [203] 
 
VIII 
 
 As I look back through the few hastily jotted 
 notes that compose my diary, I realize how ex- 
 ceptionally fortunate was our hospital in rind- 
 ing the proper people to fill the various posts 
 — almost without effort on our part! This, 
 naturally, relieved my mind of a tremendous 
 burden, and permitted me to enter whole 
 heartedly into whatever duties I undertook. 
 
 There were two questions, however, which 
 soon became problems, and we seemed help- 
 lessly handicapped in finding a solution. They 
 were apparently beyond the domain of our pos- 
 sibilities. 
 
 First of all, the shortage of coal. By dint of 
 unparalleled economy, the burning of one third 
 dry and one third green wood, together with a 
 few lumps of the precious mineral, Dubuis had 
 managed to make my stock last till the first 
 week in January. From the very beginning we 
 had not once thought of using it for heating 
 purposes, our supply wouldn't have lasted a 
 week under such circumstances. 
 [204] 
 
I THE . 
 
 By ap] I I 
 
 to the Colonel in charge of I 
 and finally to the Prefet of the Departme 
 we actually managed to get half a toi b at 
 
 the price r t labour was d 
 
 farm cart from Chateau Thie. 
 horse ma king three round trips 
 miles each. 
 
 A second demand was immediately refu 
 coal vras not to be had even with a permis. De- 
 cidedly the matter took on an alarming aspect. 
 
 Wood, of course, we had in any quantity, 
 hut green wood. We made a careful i 
 tion of what dry stock remained in the 
 and Duhuis decided that by merely lighting the 
 fires in the wards with such material, and cov- 
 ering them witli green log-, we could get a con- 
 siderable degree of heat. ] ould le 
 enough for the kitchen range until rail r 
 facilities permitted easier transportation, which 
 we calculated would be about a month or 
 weeks at the longest. 
 
 In the meantime parties composed of not 
 only our orderlies, but a good many of the 
 townspeople who willingly lent a hand, scou 
 the woods in our entire district in quest of dead 
 [ 20.5 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 limbs and branches that would make excellent 
 fuel, but the French peasant is so thrifty that 
 not much was brought in to swell the pile that 
 was carefully locked in the shed, Dubuis in 
 person distributing the necessary pittance each 
 night and morning. It was not long, however, 
 before we discovered that despite our careful 
 reckoning, our supply was literally melting 
 away, so officers and staff willingly made the 
 sacrifice of fires in their apartments, replacing 
 the lack of heat by a few more warm clothes. 
 Eut we had counted, alas ! without the humid- 
 ity, never unusual in the Eastern part of 
 France during the Winter season. Almost 
 immediately it penetrated the apartments, an. 
 I can even now recall a certain day in February 
 when the thermometer registering a little be- 
 low 32° Fh. outside, we were obliged to open 
 the dining-room windows to keep warm dur- 
 ing luncheon. The gravy on my meat turned 
 solid before I could get it to my mouth. 
 
 The second all absorbing question was, to- 
 bacco. Much has been said of its necessity to 
 the fighting men in the trenches, but I fancy 
 few realise the moral effect of a cigarette on 
 a convalescent in a typhoid hospital. The day 
 [ 206 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 a man can sit up in bed, clap his soldier's cap on 
 one ear, and puff waves of smoke into his neigh- 
 bours' faces, there is no longer any doubt as to 
 his recovery. He is cured. 
 
 The little stock that a village tobacconist had 
 been able to lay in, was quickly exhausted, with 
 no means of replenishment in view. At Charly 
 all was in reserve for the three or four hundred 
 wounded men at the local hospital. I had 
 written to friends in Paris, who all had their 
 own special charities to look after, and during 
 the past weeks railway and parcel post service 
 had been extremely intermittent and unsatis- 
 factory. I received two packages of two hun- 
 dred cigarettes each ; a mere drop in the bucket, 
 disposed of in half an hour's time. 
 
 Headquarters alone remained: I made my 
 appeal and received one kilogram, a little over 
 two pounds. I had a right to so many grammes 
 per head every ten days, as had every other 
 sanitary formation, but Headquarters could 
 not give what it did not possess. It could 
 promise — that was all, "Patience et longueur de 
 temps ..." 
 
 It was more than annoying, it was sickening, 
 to see the disappointment that greeted each of 
 [207] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 my futile attempts to procure the much de- 
 manded perlot. I decided to carry my appeal 
 to a higher court. I went to the Commandant 
 de la Place, in whose absence I was referred to 
 Monsieur le Prefet. To him I explained my 
 numerous futile endeavours. 
 
 "Madame Macherez ought to have some", he 
 said after quite a long silence during which he 
 had been thinking. In passing let me explain 
 that the lady mentioned, is the President of the 
 Red Cross Chapter in our department, the 
 Aisne. 
 
 "Yes, she certainly ought to have some. On 
 account of daily bombardment it has been de- 
 cided to evacuate two hospitals at Soissons, but 
 the tobacco is probably still there. Why don't 
 you ask her for it?" 
 
 "Monsieur le Prefet", I replied, "I should 
 be delighted, but Soissons is the front; I have 
 no possible way of communicating with the city 
 as you know." 
 
 "Yes, quite right, I had forgotten." 
 
 "How soon do you need your tobacco? I 
 am going to Soissons next week, I might see 
 what I could do." 
 
 "A week is a long time when a hundred men 
 [208] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 are aching for a smoke. To-morrow would not 
 be too soon to suit them." 
 
 "The great difficulty is to get a military 
 motor to accept such an errand. They're so 
 busy. They might transmit the order, but be 
 sent somewhere else instead of returning by 
 this direction." 
 
 "If you could find a place for me in one of 
 them I'd go myself and take a chance on get- 
 ting back quickly." 
 
 "Would you?" 
 
 "Certainly", I replied as demurely as pos- 
 sible though I must admit that suddenly my 
 heart began thumping so loudly in my bosom 
 that at times I feared it could be heard. It 
 was difficult not to seem too anxious and by 
 an apparent desire for adventure thwart a plan 
 that had suddenly germinated in my brain and 
 made such rapid strides within half a minute 
 that I now found it absolutely imperative I go 
 to Soissons. It was a purely selfish idea, I am 
 ashamed to admit. But once in the early stages 
 of the war I had met my husband in that city 
 quite unexpectedly, and after having said 
 good-bye to him forever. Recently he had been 
 promoted and his last letters led me to believe 
 [209] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 he was again in that vicinity, so though my 
 chances of encountering him were slight, I 
 was willing to risk anything to procure the 
 possibility. 
 
 It seemed to me the Prefet was an extremely 
 long time coming to a decision. Yet I dared 
 not say a word. Presently he shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 ' 'It isn't done ordinarily, you know." 
 
 I'm sure my face fell and he saw it. 
 
 "However, this is not an ordinary situation, 
 be here at seven o'clock to-morrow morning and 
 I'll do what I can to find a place for you in 
 whatever goes through from here to Soissons." 
 
 I thanked him profusely and started down to 
 the quay where my horse was to meet me; it 
 seemed to me I was walking on air, and I am 
 confident joy radiated from every pore of my 
 countenance. 
 
 On my way I met the "Medecin Chef", to 
 whom I confided my triumph, and much to 
 my dismay he didn't at all approve of my being 
 allowed to go to the front, and he didn't hesitate 
 to say so. I argued, but while he admitted the 
 tobacco question was a grave one, he also re- 
 minded me that I had quite a responsibility on 
 [210] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 my hands in the hundred and twenty men who 
 looked to me to keep the hospital open, etc. 
 I was sorry I had spoken. This was a lesson; 
 another time I would be more discreet. 
 
 On my way home to Villiers, Chou drew my 
 attention to the fact that the big guns were 
 more active than in quite a while, and by the 
 time we had reached the chateau, the din they 
 made was terrific. You could hear not only our 
 guns, but those of the enemy. 
 
 "We must have made some very important 
 gains somewhere on the front", asserted the 
 doctor, "or else there's an attack in prepara- 
 tion. I've never heard them shell Soissons 
 quite so methodically." 
 
 No permission for me to-morrow, thought I. 
 If such be the case I'll never get beyond Cha- 
 teau Thierry. 
 
 The noise raged all night. Now accustomed 
 to the cannonading it did not prevent my sleep- 
 ing, but once or twice I awoke, sat up in bed 
 and weighed my chances of the morrow's suc- 
 cess. 
 
 It was still dark when I arose and put on 
 what warm clothes I possessed, and again tak- 
 ing place beside Chou on the front of our cart 
 [211] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 retraced the road Eastward. As dawn broke 
 it seemed to me the cannonade diminished in 
 intensity, which, of course, argued well for my 
 trip. 
 
 I was deposited at the city hall where I had 
 my passport vised, and once this formality ac- 
 complished, I was ready to start. On leaving 
 home Maria had provided me with a lunch 
 box which I accepted rather ungratefully. 
 Soissons is only an hour and a half's run from 
 the chateau in a good motor, and arriving at 
 Headquarters by seven, I hoped with luck to be 
 back home for luncheon, failing which there 
 could be no doubt about dinner! 
 
 The morning came and went and still I sat 
 and waited. Every motor that had passed 
 through the city was for military purposes 
 only ; not even the possibility of standing in the 
 back of one of these covered trucks. 
 
 At one o'clock I thanked Heaven for my 
 lunch box, and though ravenously hungry, 
 prudently ate but half its contents; it was 
 just possible I might need the remainder 
 later on. 
 
 Two, three then four o'clock dragged by and 
 still I was a fixture. Several private motors 
 [212] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 had passed but with superior officers occupying 
 the back seats, so, of course, that didn't further 
 my departure in the least. In the meantime the 
 bombardment had begun with renewed vigour, 
 and with each detonation my hopes of making 
 the boys happy, grew dimmer and more re- 
 mote. 
 
 I was standing looking out the window of 
 the town hall, idly thrumming on the panes 
 with my fingers and watching the mist from 
 the Marne slowly envelop the sharp outlines 
 of the houses, making things more mysterious 
 every moment. 
 
 "Vite, vite" , called a town clerk from the 
 doorway. "Vite, vite, now's your chance, a 
 limousine going up to Soissons to fetch some 
 officers. Quick and they'll take you." 
 
 As I opened the outside door the powerful 
 headlights of a motor, whose engine I could 
 hear throbbing, shot into my eyes and blinded 
 me. The clerk went forward and began par- 
 leying with the drivers, who seemed little 
 pleased at the prospect of having a woman for 
 a passenger. 
 
 "You're not getting us in wrong", I could 
 hear one of them say. 
 
 [213] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "No", the clerk reassured them. "No, her 
 papers and permit are en regie". 
 
 "All right". 
 
 "Thank you". 
 
 In the meantime I had clambered into the 
 back seat of a most luxurious car, the door 
 slammed and we were off for the front ! Every 
 turn of the wheel was bringing us nearer and 
 nearer to the theatre of war. It awed me a bit. 
 
 I soon composed myself, however, and set 
 about noticing every detail as we went along. 
 I was fully alive to the fact that trips to the 
 front are not likely to befall the same woman 
 twice, and I was anxious to make mental note 
 of anything out of the ordinary that might 
 come under my observation. 
 
 On leaving Chateau Thierry it was still 
 light enough for me to see that the fields on 
 either side of the road were much the same as 
 in normal times. In fact I was a bit disap- 
 pointed that the damage to farm houses had 
 been repaired so soon. The only thing that 
 seemed different since I had last travelled in 
 this direction was the loneliness of the roads — 
 in peace times always alive with traffic and 
 pleasure cars. 
 
 [214] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I leaned forward and asked one of the 
 drivers why we didn't meet more army supply 
 carts, and he replied that the direct line from 
 Paris to the front was through Villers Cotter- 
 ets, and that though a national thoroughfare 
 this one was reserved for emergencies, or com- 
 munication with the hospital centre at Chateau 
 Thierry. 
 
 As we approached Ouchy-le-chateau, which 
 is about half way between Villiers and Soissons, 
 it was still light enough for me to see that the 
 noise made by our car had drawn a sentry from 
 his box. He was standing in the middle of the 
 road, barring our path, his hands holding his 
 gun extended high above his head. This was a 
 signal for us to stop. 
 
 We slowed down, and jumping from the 
 front seat one of the drivers (they always go by 
 twos in case of accident) went up to the sentry 
 and whispered the password into his ear. Im- 
 mediately he lowered his weapon and accom- 
 panied our man to a little impromptu hut from 
 whose lone window streamed a ray of lamp 
 light. Presently both returned preceded by an 
 under officer who asked for my papers. I pro- 
 duced them, handed them out the window, and 
 [215] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 then watched him slowly return towards the 
 hut. At the end of five or ten minutes our man 
 came out and asked me if I would have the 
 kindness to step inside for a moment. Won- 
 dering what complication could have devel- 
 oped, I gladly complied with the demand, and 
 as I entered the door the rays of the lamp from 
 which the shade had been removed, made me 
 wince a trifle. 
 
 "That will do, thank you", said a voice as I 
 blinked and opened my eyes, "I only wanted to 
 be quite sure you corresponded with the 
 photograph on the passport. Sorry to have in- 
 convenienced you." 
 
 "Not at all, sir," I replied as I retraced my 
 steps toward the car. 
 
 On leaving Ouchy although it was almost 
 pitch dark, we were forbidden to use our head- 
 lights — in fact any lights whatsoever. There 
 was no need to demand an explanation, the 
 roaring, crashing sounds made by the heavy 
 guns on our immediate left told us we were in 
 their neighbourhood, though as yet quite a dis- 
 tance from the first lines. 
 
 Our speed was reduced considerably, and to 
 add to the drivers' discomfort, a driving rain 
 [216] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 had set in. It was nearly seven o'clock when 
 we were again halted at Hartannes. 
 
 " You'll not get into Soissons to-night", was 
 the comforting remark of the sentry as he re- 
 turned my papers. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Can't you hear all the music that's in the 
 air? I'll bet the shells are dancing in the 
 streets. This is the worst bombardment yet." 
 
 The drivers looked askance at me. 
 
 "Go ahead until some one stops me defi- 
 nitely", was all I said. The men threw in the 
 clutch and we bounded forward. 
 
 It must have been most annoying to drive 
 that huge, high-power machine at a snail's pace. 
 All the time it reminded me of a thoroughbred 
 animal tugging to get loose from its harness, 
 and ready to leap ahead at the slightest provo- 
 cation. But in our case prudence demanded 
 that we keep a tight rein. 
 
 Emerging from a long avenue and turning 
 sharply to the right we came upon an open 
 road, and here it was that night that I caught 
 my first vision of warfare. It was black night 
 but looking behind me as the noise of an explo- 
 sion rent the air, I could now and again catch 
 [217] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 sight of a spark whizzing through the sky as a 
 shell took its course towards the enemy's 
 trenches, scarcely three miles ahead of us. 
 
 The sound of the German guns was almost as 
 distinct as ours and it was with something of a 
 quiver that I realised my position — between 
 our artillery and theirs. 
 
 Presently a terrific racket announced the 
 departure of a heavy German shell, and not 
 many seconds later we heard a crashing sound 
 accompanied by a huge blaze that shot heaven- 
 ward. 
 
 "They're trying to locate some particular 
 spot", the driver informed me. "They're shell- 
 ing with 'Bombes eclair antes. 3 Look there 
 goes another." 
 
 True enough, another and still another fol- 
 lowed each other in rapid succession, illumi- 
 nating the distant sky line in a most gruesome 
 manner. I don't think I really appreciated the 
 gravity of the moment, though the quickened 
 beating of my pulse betokened my unconscious 
 nervous condition. Once and once only had I 
 ever seen anything that I could compare with 
 it. As a child, while living in the suburbs of 
 New York, I had been awakened during a hot 
 [218] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Summer's night by the breaking of an electric 
 storm. The quick flashes of chain lightning, 
 followed by immediate close rolling thunder, 
 had so terrified me that screaming with fright 
 I had sought refuge in my mother's arms, 
 where I had cried myself to sleep. Such had 
 been the will of our Creator. Now what I wit- 
 nessed was the voluntary work of man. I shud- 
 dered. Still the motor went resolutely for- 
 ward. 
 
 Our pace was so slow that presently, through 
 the din, I recognised the familiar tramp of feet 
 on the road, and guessed our men were overtak- 
 ing some soldiers. In a few moments we came 
 upon a company, advancing probably to relieve 
 their comrades in the trenches. They were 
 laughing and joking with one another, the only 
 thing visible in the darkness being the burning 
 tips of half a hundred cigarettes. The column 
 parted to let our motor pass ahead, and while 
 in their midst another rocket-shell burst, light- 
 ing up the road, and allowing them to catch a 
 glimpse of my white head-dress in the back of 
 the car. 
 
 "Hi there, give us a lift", called one or two. 
 
 "Look out for my toes", shrieked another. 
 [219] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Tell us where you're going and we'll call 
 and leave our cards." 
 
 This unexpected joviality was most welcome, 
 and a smile relieved the tenseness of the muscles 
 in my face. It was unbelievable that such good 
 humour could exist right in the very jaws of 
 death. 
 
 We crept on stealthily, bumping from side 
 to side over the ruts in the road, now and again 
 literally ploughing through muddy slime that 
 came close up to the wheel hubs. 
 
 Suddenly as we were passing between a row 
 of houses, a voice that could be heard at a much 
 longer distance, cried out — 
 
 "Qui vive?" 
 
 "France!" was the immediate reply from 
 the front seat. My blood was racing through 
 my veins. The moment was more exciting than 
 any drama I had ever witnessed. 
 
 "Stop your car, no one can pass here", said 
 the voice as a tall dark figure loomed in the 
 darkness. 
 
 "But our papers are all in order", protested 
 our driver, "I'll get down and show them to 
 
 you." 
 
 "Sorry but those are my orders." 
 [220] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "We're only going to Soissons", continued 
 the chauffeur. 
 
 The sentry was merciless. 
 
 "Pull over to the side of the road", he or- 
 dered. "I'll let our officer take care of you as 
 soon as he comes." 
 
 We obeyed blindly — there was nothing else 
 to do. 
 
 "Where are we?", asked the driver. 
 
 "Vauxbuin," came the reply. "Right on the 
 station square." 
 
 "Where's Vauxbuin?" growled number two. 
 
 "The last village on the road before you get 
 to Soissons", said I, proud of my knowledge. 
 Then leaning my head against the cold window 
 frame, I strained my eyes in hope of recognis- 
 ing the landscape. In a very few moments 
 things began to take shape. Yes, there was 
 the station, the fountain in the middle of the 
 square. 
 
 "What's this motor doing here?" asked an 
 abrupt, unfamiliar voice. 
 
 The sentry explained the situation, and pro- 
 ducing an electric lamp from his pocket, an 
 officer of the Gendarmes, or army police, 
 turned it on to us. 
 
 [221] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 He asked us for our papers and after care- 
 fully scanning them, shook his head. 
 
 "Soissons ! Impossible ! You can't stay here 
 though ; roads must be kept clear." 
 
 No one from within murmured. 
 
 "Do you know where the distillery is on the 
 right of the road, about quarter of a mile from 
 here?" 
 
 "No Sir", replied our driver. 
 
 "I do", said I. 
 
 "Can you guide them?" 
 
 "Surely!" 
 
 "Then off you go. Mind now, no further. 
 Turn into the court yard and wait orders." 
 
 I felt relieved, at least we were going for- 
 ward. In one awful moment I had feared lest 
 we be turned about and sent homeward. It 
 would have been such a pity, now that I was 
 within sight of my goal. 
 
 We crawled along, finally reaching the gate 
 of the distillery where another sentry halted 
 us and asked our mission. On explaining, we 
 were allowed to come in and back up against a 
 shed. 
 
 The rain had ceased and the cannonade had 
 redoubled in violence. It was quite evident 
 [222] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 that I stood little or no chance of entering the 
 city under present conditions, for it was being 
 subjected to a perfect rain of steel. 
 
 Across the courtyard, the main building I 
 could see was occupied. Though every window 
 was carefully closed and covered with dark 
 shades one felt that the place was inhabited. 
 
 We had not been in our position many mo- 
 ments when a horseman swung into the yard, 
 galloped up to the side of the house and throw- 
 ing the reins over the neck of his horse, entered 
 the door, which as it opened let out a flood of 
 light. Two minutes later another man fol- 
 lowed him, and he in turn was succeeded by 
 another. It was a perfect stream of soldiers, 
 silently coming and going. 
 
 As we sat still and waited for something 
 more to happen, a masculine figure sauntered 
 leisurely across the court and up to the front 
 of our machine. As he drew nearer I could see 
 he was munching a crust of bread, and pres- 
 ently smelled the odor of garlic. 
 
 "What's in there?" asked our chauffeur 
 pointing to the distillery. 
 
 " Offices of some kind, I think", came the 
 muffled reply. 
 
 [223] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Don't you belong here?" 
 
 "No, just waiting for the chance to deliver 
 my munitions." 
 
 With his jack-knife the speaker cut himself 
 a piece of bread and a generous slice of sau- 
 sage. As I let down my window in order not to 
 lose a word, the wind wafted a spicy odour in 
 my direction and made me remember my own 
 hunger. 
 
 "What's the matter with them to-night?", 
 queried our man, nodding his head in the direc- 
 tion of the enemy. "I never heard them so noisy 
 in this sector." 
 
 "Oh, it won't be long now", calmly replied 
 the other. "They probably got news we were 
 moving troops and they've been shelling the 
 main road for two days steady. Boys are all 
 going up by the masked lanes, laughing at 
 them. Let 'em waste their munitions all they 
 like!" 
 
 "Is that the reason we've been held up?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 At this point my attention was directed to a 
 
 rosy glow behind me, and turning about 
 
 towards the other end of the long open faced 
 
 shed, I caught a glimpse of a fire that was 
 
 [224] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 struggling into existence. A second glance 
 showed me that for safety's sake it had been 
 kindled beneath the cover of the shed itself, 
 and as gradually the light grew in volume, a 
 strange scene was revealed to my wondering 
 gaze. As though in a dream I could see long 
 draped oriental figures gradually taking shape. 
 Reclining on the ground, their heads covered 
 by huge tan colored turbans, they had turned 
 their faces towards the welcome blaze, their 
 shining brown eyes catching and reflecting 
 every stray luminous ray. 
 
 Slowly and with measured gestures each one 
 lifted a cigarette to his mouth, and let the 
 smoke fall leisurely from his lips. Silence 
 reigned. Their thoughts seemed to be going 
 outward with their smoke. 
 
 Then, and as though prearranged, a tall 
 figure with flowing white robes evolved from 
 the shadow in the background, his immaculate 
 turban and iron-grey beard setting off his noble 
 brow and flashing eyes. As he gradually ap- 
 proached the group, and his whole person was 
 flooded in light, I could see the Legion of 
 Honor hanging, a scarlet splash, against the 
 white bernous of this Moroccan Chief. 
 [225] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Following my example, both chauffeurs and 
 their munching companion had turned about, 
 and remained speechless at the unexpected 
 vision that met their eyes. Then, and as though 
 incapable of finding words to express the emo- 
 tion this wonderfully peaceful oriental scene 
 had produced in his brain, our friend of the 
 sausage moved away, but as he went nodded 
 his head in the direction of the Arabs and mur- 
 mured — 
 
 "They should worry." 
 
 Suddenly, and when we least expected it, the 
 bombardment ceased; both sides halted a mo- 
 ment as though for breath. The cannonade 
 was now far distant on our left, a mere echo of 
 what we had endured. Immediately in front of 
 us the ceaseless tac-a-tac-tac-tac of a machine 
 gun was the only sound of strife. 
 
 The supply waggon guided by our friend 
 rolled out of the court and headed for the front, 
 and almost immediately we were informed that 
 we could pursue our course. 
 
 "Hurry up now", continued the man who 
 brought us our instructions. "Hurry up and 
 get in and get out again. Turn to your left at 
 [226] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 the first sentry — use only the masked roads. 
 Good night and good luck." 
 
 We thanked him and followed his advice, 
 turned to the left into a newly made winding 
 lane that zig-zagged through private property, 
 and in the daytime is hidden from the enemy's 
 view by a screen of evergreen trees cleverly 
 disposed for that purpose. Up hill, down dale, 
 we journeyed, our chainless wheels slipping 
 one yard to every two we advanced. At one 
 moment we reached the summit of a small in- 
 cline and a dilapidated mill came into view. 
 The road led almost against the building, and 
 as we advanced a soldier sprang from the dark- 
 ness and came running towards our car. 
 
 "Hold on a moment", he called, waving us 
 back. "Hold on." 
 
 At the same instant a struggling horse drag- 
 ging a heavily laden cart appeared over the op- 
 posite side of the hill, and was guided towards 
 the building. 
 
 "All right, go ahead," called the same voice, 
 and again we started on our way. Looking 
 backward as we passed beyond the mill, I 
 caught a glimpse of the open court-yard dimly 
 lighted by the rays of a lantern. On the 
 [227] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ground lay masses of mud-stained human 
 forms, while a soldier and a white aproned 
 doctor were gently lifting limp bodies from the 
 cart, the toll of the day's battle arriving at the 
 Dressing Station. 
 
 On our downward path we were obliged to 
 make room, even in the very narrow roadbed, 
 for a long line of stragglers, — men who having 
 been slightly wounded, were dragging them- 
 selves, and helping others to the Poste de Se- 
 cours. 
 
 Our next halt was on the very outskirts of 
 the coveted city. The Gendarmes once again, 
 and for the last time, examined our papers. 
 We had almost reached our goal and I was 
 exultant. 
 
 "Go on in", were the final injunctions, "But 
 no further than the Place de la Bourse. Mind 
 what I say." 
 
 In less than ten minutes our auto came to a 
 halt at the spot designated, and a sentry came 
 up to see who we were. 
 
 "No vehicles allowed to circulate after dark", 
 was his reply to the questions put by my chauf- 
 feurs. Reluctantly I climbed down and bid 
 my drivers good-bye. 
 
 [228] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "It's not far now, I'll proceed on foot." 
 
 "Hold on a moment, Madame", called the 
 sentry. "Where are you going?" 
 
 "To Madame Macherez's." 
 
 "Why that's half a mile from here, straight 
 down towards the river front." 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "Have you got the pass word?" 
 
 "No." * 
 
 "Well then you won't go twenty yards. You 
 know it's after ten o'clock. Nothing but 
 officers allowed in the streets." 
 
 My heart fell into my boots. Here was a 
 predicament. Should I ask to be driven back 
 now that after fourteen hours of weary waiting 
 I had almost reached my terminus. Never! 
 
 "Can't one of you men accompany me then?" 
 
 "Wish we might, but we'd be very severely 
 punished if we were caught. You can't 
 monkey with rules in war time." 
 
 I replied I supposed such was true, and 
 stood there helpless, wondering what on earth 
 I should do. 
 
 "Why don't you go to the hotel for the 
 night?", suggested another soldier who had 
 come upon the scene. 
 
 [229] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEIiCY 
 
 "A hotel?", I said out loud, "Didn't know 
 there was one! Is it open?" 
 
 "Never been shut to my knowledge, has it 
 Louis?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How can I get there?" 
 
 "Oh, it's only across the square. I'll be glad 
 enough to go that far with you." 
 
 Through a thick layer of sand that deadened 
 the sounds of our footsteps but made walking 
 most uncomfortable, we trudged over to the 
 Hotel du Soleil d'Or. As far as I could per- 
 ceive in the darkness, the place had suffered 
 little or none in spite of the many bombard- 
 ments, and I said so to my companion. 
 
 "That's because you can only see the out- 
 side — not the in!" 
 
 I was obliged to take his word for it. I 
 would have time to verify in the morning. 
 
 We knocked at the door. In response we 
 heard a long angry growl. 
 
 "Who's there?", called a man from within, as 
 he laid his hand on the latch. 
 
 "I'm bringing you a guest. I'll vouch for 
 her. You can take her in." 
 
 The door whisked open, an arm stretched 
 [230] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 out and grabbed me. A second later I stood 
 inside, face to face with the proprietor of the 
 hotel, who as sole means of lighting a large 
 vestibule, held in his hand a tiny oil lamp. To 
 his wife who came hurrying up the corridor, I 
 introduced myself, and recalled a visit during 
 the very first days of the war. 
 
 "Yes, I believe I do remember you. Would 
 it be impolite to ask you what brings you here 
 now?" 
 
 I explained my mission which they thor- 
 oughly comprehended. 
 
 "Plenty of time for that to-morrow morn- 
 ing", said the woman as I finished. "Come 
 right upstairs. You're probably as tired as we 
 are. It's been so noisy we haven't slept a wink 
 for two nights. Have you had anything to 
 eat?", she inquired as she led the way to a room 
 on the first floor. 
 
 "Not very much", I admitted. I was hungry. 
 
 The woman went to the railing and called 
 "Celine, Celine". 
 
 "Out, Madame" 
 
 "Make a ham sandwich and bring it on a tray 
 with a glass of milk to number six, at once, 
 please." 
 
 [231] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 That sounded tempting, and certainly most 
 luxurious under the circumstances. 
 
 I sat down on the edge of the bed in a humble 
 hotel room, whose immaculate scrubbed floor 
 and spotless coverlet were its only redeeming 
 features. I began to remove my boots. 
 
 4 'I'm sorry we can't make a fire, but natu- 
 rally it is forbidden. The house is very damp." 
 
 I said I would not remove my underwear. 
 
 "That's perhaps more prudent in case the 
 bombardment should recommence during the 
 night." 
 
 "How far are we from the German lines, 
 here?" 
 
 "About eight hundred yards!", was the calm 
 and casual answer from this woman who spoke 
 of the enemy just as the proprietor of a Swiss 
 summer Hotel indicates the direction of a cele- 
 brated glacier or mountain peak. 
 
 The sandwiches appeared on a tray, and as 
 I consumed them I plied my hostess with ques- 
 tions. When they had disappeared she took 
 her way towards the door. 
 
 "Look here", said I as she was about to re- 
 tire, "I see that you have a heavy pair of cur- 
 tains pulled over each window." 
 [232] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "That's to prevent the light ..." 
 "I know, but after I've put mine out, may I 
 part them for a breath of air? I promise not 
 to do anything foolish." 
 
 "Promise me, won't you, because you know 
 it's very serious. A ray of light from this 
 window would not only get me arrested as a 
 spy by our own people, but probably mean 
 bombardment by the enemy who is always 
 watching out for some signal or other. I 
 hardly think you'll need to open them", she 
 continued, "They're as much to prevent air as 
 light. There isn't anything but a hole in the 
 place where the windows used to be." 
 
 I pledged myself to obedience and she left 
 
 me. 
 
 All of a sudden and in spite of the bitter cold, 
 I suddenly felt a drowsiness settling on me. 
 I finished a hasty toilet and climbed into bed. 
 
 When just dozing off, mid the most com- 
 plete silence, a sharp rap on my door roused me 
 to a sitting posture. 
 
 "Come in", I called. 
 
 In response to my summons Celine turned 
 the knob and entered. I noticed that she car- 
 ried a wash basin in her hands. 
 [ 233 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "In case it might rain again", she explained. 
 "You see there is no roof left on this end of the 
 house and it would be very disagreeable to 
 paddle around in the wet tomorrow morning." 
 Setting the basin in one corner of the room she 
 departed. 
 
 Five minutes later I was sound asleep. 
 
 [234] 
 
IX 
 
 Suddenly I found myself sitting up in bed 
 rubbing my eyes. The room was pitch dark. 
 I only had a very vague notion of where I was. 
 Had I dreamed it, or was that horrible noise 
 a reality? 
 
 A long ghastly, screeching sound rent the 
 air. Whizz Br.ng ! ! 
 
 The detonation came from my immediate 
 vicinity. It rocked the house, and a strange 
 clattering unlike anything I had ever heard 
 before arose from the street, just below my 
 window. It was as though some one were 
 dumping a load of stone and bricks from the 
 roof across the way. Still not a human voice 
 was heard ; not a cry of any kind. 
 
 Whizz 
 
 Instinctively I drew the covers around me 
 and snuggled closer to my pillow. 
 
 When the shell burst I could hear hurried 
 steps in the corridor and a loud tapping on my 
 door. 
 
 "Madame, Madame, wake up!" 
 [235] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 As though anyone could sleep with such a 
 tumult. 
 
 "Madame, Madame, make haste, the bom- 
 bardment is beginning again. We're all going 
 down into the cellar.' ' 
 
 I stretched out my hand towards the night- 
 table where I had laid the matches. As I was 
 about to strike one, I recalled my promise and 
 remembered the curtains were open. It was 
 not until that moment that I fully realised 
 where I was, and under what conditions. 
 
 Groping about in the darkness I found one 
 stocking. The other, where could it be? Ah, 
 at last. Presently I slipped into my corduroy 
 skirt, and throwing my heavy motor coat about 
 my shoulders, opened the door and stepped into 
 the hall. 
 
 The voice that aroused me had continued its 
 rounds in the corridor, and evidently the hotel 
 was full of guests, for it still went on calling 
 even after I had ventured as far as the head of 
 the stairs. Below on a table I could see a little 
 oil lamp flickering miserably, sending out puny 
 rays of light that only half dispelled the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 At the sound of steps approaching from be- 
 [236] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 hind, I turned about and beheld the dishevelled 
 proprietor of the hotel, candle in hand, followed 
 by a half dozen masculine figures hastily but- 
 toning on the different parts of their attire as 
 they hurried forward. It was the most ludi- 
 crous nocturnal parade I ever hope to behold. 
 
 "Swine", murmured a demure looking officer 
 while vainly fumbling for his trappings. 
 "Why couldn't they hold off for an hour or 
 two ! This is the first night's sleep I've had in a 
 month!" 
 
 Two others, civilians, said nothing, but evi- 
 dently accustomed to the ways of the enemy, 
 speedily made themselves presentable. 
 
 Single file we walked down a long flight of 
 stone steps leading into the cellar. I doubt if 
 many Americans appreciate what a fortress 
 such a place really is; perhaps more so nowa- 
 days since learning through the newspapers 
 that life and occupations in cities like Soissons 
 and Rheims have been conducted almost en- 
 tirely underground during incessant bombard- 
 ment for nearly three years. The cellar in the 
 Hotel du Soleil d'Or was no exception to the 
 rule. Dug deep into the ground, say twenty or 
 twenty-five feet below the level of the street, 
 [237] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 it had been built to preserve an even temper- 
 ature for fine wine, and was admirably suited 
 for a refuge from the enemy's shells. Daily as- 
 saults having become customary, at the end of 
 a short time the proprietors decided that guests 
 who cared to risk their lives by stopping at their 
 inn, ought to be allowed to finish their night's 
 rest in peace. Accordingly the red plush cov- 
 ered benches from the cafe had been brought 
 down stairs and stood in place along the wall, 
 a row of iron tables in front of them, indicating 
 that one could obtain anything he cared to 
 order, just as above. 
 
 A green shaded brass chandelier illuminated 
 by a kerosene lamp, hung from the middle of 
 the vaulted ceiling, while a stove whose pipe 
 extended out through the coal hole into the 
 street, was kept gently burning during the en- 
 tire Winter. 
 
 In little stalls bricked on either side, and in 
 which the different kinds of wine are usually 
 kept, quite separate from each other, beds had 
 now been set up. The Germans had drunk 
 this cellar dry of wine during the twelve days 
 they had occupied the city, early in September, 
 1914. 
 
 [238] 
 
ENTRANCE TO THE TRENCHES NEAR 
 THE PONTNEUF, SOISSONS 
 

MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 It was towards one of these beds that the 
 proprietress led me, assuring me that I need 
 have no fear, and that it would be wiser to sleep 
 since I was so tired. She drew a curtain across 
 the front of the little stall in order to convince 
 me that it was quite private. 
 
 But I had no desire to sleep. My teeth were 
 chattering a bit with cold and emotion, and the 
 bombardment continued to rage without, grow- 
 ing every moment in violence. 
 
 I took a chair and seated myself by the stove. 
 Two officers had not spurned the offer of beds 
 and retired almost immediately, while a couple 
 of civilians opened the board, shook the dice, 
 and began a game of back-gammon, while in a 
 few moments a bright-eyed, clean shaven little 
 old man brought out a pack of cards and asked 
 the proprietor to join him at Piquet. 
 
 All at once, mid the most fearful crashing 
 racket, every person in the room breathed forth 
 a prolonged and grateful sigh ! Ah ! 
 
 I looked at the proprietress for an explana- 
 tion. 
 
 "Our guns have begun firing. They've prob- 
 ably just got the range." 
 
 She was right, the sounds were now quite dif- 
 [239] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ferent, and the players went on with their 
 games, the anxious wrinkles gradually disap- 
 pearing from their brows. 
 
 What peculiar satisfaction, I thought, as I 
 pictured the astonishment of my friends when I 
 would recount the details of a night spent in 
 a cellar with the French and German armies 
 trying to annihilate one another almost imme- 
 diately above my head ! 
 
 "This is the way we have been living for over 
 four months now", explained the proprietress 
 pulling her chair nearer to mine. "At the be- 
 ginning it seemed awfully queer, but now we're 
 used to it we don't mind a bit." She had 
 brought some mending and was busy plying 
 her needle as she talked. 
 
 "Does it pay to keep open?" I asked quite 
 anxious to engage her in conversation. 
 
 "Oh, yes indeed! Why what would a big 
 city like Soissons be without a cafe? When 
 you set out to serve the public you can't always 
 think of yourself first," was Madame Poirot's 
 simple, philosophical reply. 
 
 "We've been particularly fortunate", she 
 continued. Up until now we've never been 
 closed, and all the other hotel keepers have been 
 [240] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 literally shelled out of business. Of course, we 
 have not come off without a knock or two, but 
 that's nothing. Our stables have been com- 
 pletely demolished but we have no more horses. 
 So what's the odds?" 
 
 A detonation more violent than anything we 
 had yet heard burst on the air, and even Ma- 
 dame Poirot halted before taking another stitch. 
 
 "There, they've begun shelling the hospital 
 again", said she, turning her eyes in the direc- 
 tion of the gamesters. 
 
 "No, not quite so close", returned one of the 
 civilian players without putting down his dice 
 box. "That's only the station. Hospital next 
 time, and our turn next." 
 
 Madame Poirot resumed her sewing, and 
 with it the thread of her story. I must admit 
 that her calmness annoyed me a trifle, and I 
 paid little attention to what she was saying, 
 being more interested in verifying the elderly 
 gentleman's prognostics. 
 
 The second crash came! Closer and louder 
 than its precedent. 
 
 "Now, am I right?", asked the old man 
 shrugging his shoulders. "Was, or wasn't that 
 the hospital?" 
 
 [241] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MKKCY 
 
 Madame Poirot nodded her assent and con- 
 tinued her work. 
 
 With a strange numb feeling in my limbs, 
 and a sudden dryness in my throat, I awaited 
 the third arrival. 
 
 A long, low, winning sound, then a thud that 
 made everything sway, and finally a tearing, 
 rattling din that forced me to duck my head 
 unconsciously, and even caused the other occu- 
 pants of that cellar-cafe-salon to cease their 
 various occupations and look at each other with 
 surprise. At the same instant a noise as of 
 shelves of china and glass being precipitated to 
 the ground, greeted our ears. 
 
 "Dufayel's again", remarked the same old 
 man. "That'll give 'em work for the next week 
 to come. You'd think the Bodies knew they 
 spent all their time fixing up the damage after 
 each bombardment. That's the sixth time this 
 Winter." 
 
 "Seventh", corrected Madame Poirot. 
 
 "Good Heavens, Madame", said I as soon as 
 I could collect my wits. "How can you live 
 here under such nervous strain?" 
 
 "And pray where would Monsieur le Prefet 
 sleep every week when he comes if we were to 
 [ 242 ] 
 
MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MEBCY 
 
 dose up and go away? And who'd take eare of 
 our regular boarders?" 
 
 Argument seemed futile. Now that the ten- 
 sion was over, my nerves relaxed and the 
 warmth of the stove presently set me nodding. 
 As my head pitched forward I caught myself, 
 and with a supreme effort sat up straight on my 
 chair. 
 
 My movements, however, had not passed un- 
 noticed hy the old servant Celine, who from the 
 very beginning had been calmly peeling pota- 
 toes in the opposite corner of the room. 
 
 "It's almost over, Madame", she called. 
 "They're bursting in another quarter alto- 
 gether. Pretty soon you'll be able to go up- 
 stairs and finish your night in peace." 
 
 "Hope to Heaven you're telling the truth", 
 enjoined the officer who had bemoaned his 
 broken rest. 
 
 "You'll see I'm right sir, in a few moments." 
 
 We had not long to wait, the firing became 
 more and more distant, so gathering my posses- 
 sions together I started up the stairway. On 
 the first step I was halted by the touch of a 
 hand on my arm. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Madame, but I forgot 
 [ 248 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 to ask whether you would have coffee or choc- 
 olate for breakfast?" 
 
 When at length I awoke much refreshed, I 
 could hear a great gabbling of female voices 
 just below my window. Looking out I caught 
 sight of some two score of women, who, market 
 baskets on their arms, were gathered together 
 discussing the events and disasters of the night 
 just passed. 
 
 "You can't prevent it", explained Madame 
 Poirot when I came downstairs. "Monsieur 
 le Prefet has threatened to lock them up — the 
 military authority has warned them that any 
 gathering is likely to draw fire from the enemy ! 
 Huh ! do you think they mind ? They're so glad 
 to be alive that they've just got to stop and talk 
 about it, and nothing will ever keep them from 
 it." 
 
 As I tranquilly sipped my chocolate, the 
 proprietress informed me that fortunately 
 there was no civilian death to deplore, and after 
 paying my bill, I started immediately in quest 
 of Madame Macherez. Since the Germans 
 had occupied her Chateau on the right bank, 
 she had elected domicile in her son's home, just 
 [244] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 opposite the City Hall, and scarcely a hundred 
 yards from the river. 
 
 As I passed through the cafe on my way out, 
 I could see that in spite of the early hour, busi- 
 ness was nourishing. There was even a game 
 of billiards well under way. 
 
 In the courtyard Celine was sweeping up a 
 quantity of debris, and grumbling as she 
 worked. 
 
 "What's the matter?", I asked. 
 
 "Matter", she snapped back. "How on 
 earth's a person to keep a place looking respect- 
 able with those dirty Boches knocking stuff 
 about every night? I've used up three brooms 
 this year ! I don't know what Madame Poirot 
 will say if I ask for another one just now!" 
 
 The street, though not deserted, hardly pre- 
 sented its peacetime aspect. Once or twice a 
 woman with her market basket could be seen 
 coming or going, but what lent the greatest 
 animation was some fifteen or twenty soldiers 
 busily engaged in neatly piling up the wreck- 
 age that had been plunged there during the 
 night. The thoroughfare at all times must be 
 kept free for the passage of troops. 
 
 One store in every five was open, while across 
 [245] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 the shutters of others was written the words 
 "Dwelling Inhabited". Most of the shops, as 
 well as little outdoor counters, showed displays 
 of fresh vegetables or dry groceries, while 
 others, such as the Bazaar distinctly demon- 
 strated the proximity of the troops to whom 
 this "Big city" must have been a paradise. 
 Only wrist watches, engagement rings and ac- 
 cordions were on exhibition. 
 
 The walls in either side were literally covered 
 with posters and public notices, dating before, 
 during and after the German invasion. One 
 which I halted a moment to read particularly 
 impressed me with the tyranny of the Hun 
 towards children and their mothers. 
 
 Half a block further down I smiled as I 
 caught sight of a white chalked sign which 
 read — 
 
 "Safety cellar for the troops in case of bom- 
 bardment. 
 
 Safety cellar for civilians also. 
 
 Key to be obtained on demand from Ma- 
 dame Lebe — 61 Faubourg de Rheims." 
 
 That Avenue was nearly half a mile distant ! 
 
 Pursuing my course down the long Rue du 
 Commerce, I finally came to the public market, 
 [246] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 which though covered with glass, had yet mirac- 
 ulously escaped the enemy's shells. As I 
 looked across the square I caught sight of ten 
 or a dozen soldiers hobbling or limping, while 
 behind them military nurses pushed little two- 
 wheeled handcarts, whose contents were cov- 
 ered by a bit of canvas. 
 
 "Wounded on their way to the hospital," a 
 kindly soul informed me, easily recognising 
 that I was a stranger. 
 
 A moment later a soft swishing sound as of 
 someone crushing a large piece of taffeta silk, 
 made me suddenly look above me. A sharp cry 
 of alarm rang out in the street, and sent hu- 
 mans, like rats, scurrying to their holes. 
 
 I had barely time to step into the first shop, 
 whose open door offered shelter, when with a 
 bang and a crash, a German shell burst on the 
 other side of the city. 
 
 "Good morning, Madame", cooed a little 
 gentle white-capped woman, by way of wel- 
 coming me to her store. 
 
 "They're at it again", said I indignantly, al- 
 most ignoring her salutation. 
 
 "Madame is not from Soissons?" 
 
 "No, but the suburbs." 
 [247] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Ah, this is rather a bad time to have come 
 to town. But you needn't be afraid here, my 
 little back room is as safe as any cellar." 
 
 "How long do you suppose they'll keep it 
 up?", I demanded, fully realising how inane 
 was such a question, but putting it merely for 
 want of something better to say. 
 
 "Ah, that I couldn't tell", was the polite 
 reply. "I've heard that if they continue this 
 much longer the city will have to be evacuated. 
 It isn't safe, even for a hospital at present." 
 
 "Shall you go if they do?" 
 
 The old woman shook her head. 
 
 "Who would take care of my pets if I did?", 
 said she, stroking the head of a fine Gordon 
 setter, and motioning to an alley-way where 
 from a half dozen bird cages the occupants sent 
 forth a cheerful twitter. 
 
 "No, no", she continued half aloud, half 
 soliloquizing. "I'm an old woman now. My 
 husband's buried in the cemetery here. These 
 are all I've got. I couldn't leave them. I'd 
 surely die without them." 
 
 The sight of a blue uniform followed by 
 another, and then another, drew me to the door 
 in spite of the imminent danger. Indian-file, 
 [248] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 rifle in hand, a company of soldiers was literally 
 scraping the walls on either side of the street, 
 rushing rapidly in the direction I had been 
 headed. Their intrepidity stirred me to do 
 likewise. I had enough of waiting around, I 
 should be absent a week at this rate. 
 
 Decidedly the bombardment was increasing 
 in violence. It was now or never. The old wo- 
 man had guessed my intention. 
 
 "There isn't much danger, Madame. If you 
 stay on the side opposite where the shell strikes, 
 there isn't any danger at all!" 
 
 Just what the opposite side might be, I 
 didn't take the time to ask. Throwing her a 
 hasty adieu I started running down the narrow 
 side walk much as had done the soldiers a few 
 seconds before. I never had been calmer in all 
 my life, but obeying a natural instinct for pro- 
 tection, I could not resist reaching back to turn 
 the bottom of my motor coat over my head and 
 shoulders. I was sufficiently master of my feel- 
 ings to realise that this was much in the order 
 of the ostrich and the sand-heap as far as real 
 reasoning was concerned, but it afforded me an 
 infinite sense of security, and helped me to span 
 the remaining hundred yards that lay between 
 [249] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 the door I had just abandoned, and the Public 
 Square opposite the Rue du Coq-Lombard. 
 
 It was with a decided sense of relief that I 
 turned into the little narrow street just as our 
 guns sent over the first morning's greetings to 
 the Bodies on the opposite side of the Aisne. 
 
 Whizz! Whizz!! 
 
 I fairly jerked the bell cord from its socket. 
 
 The measured tread of sabot clad feet slowly 
 crossing the court-yard irritated my over- 
 strained nerves. 
 
 Whizz — Boom! 
 
 I could hardly wait until the door opened. 
 At last I breathed again! For though no more 
 protected from the rain of shells than I had 
 been during the past twelve hours, the idea of 
 having successfully attained my goal, blotted 
 out any other feelings. 
 
 I followed the maid across a square paved 
 court, and was ushered into a small drawing- 
 room, where save for the fact that the window 
 panes had been replaced by paper, nothing in 
 the world would have made one think that the 
 German trenches were scarcely five hundred 
 yards distant. 
 
 Each thing was in its place, not a speck of 
 [250] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 dust to be seen, and over on a small table near 
 the light stood a tiny vase filled with Winter 
 flowers. It was here I was received by Ma- 
 dame Macherez, the woman whose name, 
 coupled with that of Mademoiselle Germaine 
 Sellier, has long been on the tongue of every 
 man and woman and child in all the broad land 
 of France. She and her companion are na- 
 tional heroines, long since decorated with the 
 War Cross for bravery; honoured by the 
 French Academy with the Prix Audiffred, and 
 now on the threshold of the fourth year of the 
 war, it is wonderful to think that they have 
 stuck to their posts, caring for the wounded, 
 ministering to the sick, through a thousand 
 days of constant bombardment. So long as 
 the annals of Soissons survive, their names will 
 be graven thereon in letters of gold. 
 
 Time and events have on several occasions 
 procured me the privilege of visiting them 
 since my hurried call on that momentous morn- 
 ing preceding the Battle of Crouy. I have al- 
 ways found them in the same dwelling, gradu- 
 ally reduced to two rooms, with nothing but 
 smouldering ruins in place of the majestic 
 buildings that once surrounded them. 
 [251] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 
 
 Yet demoralisation is unknown. A faith- 
 ful servant serves meals regularly on a spotless 
 linen cloth. The centre piece at no matter what 
 season is always ornataented by a bouquet 
 (token of gratitude from some soldier or civil- 
 ian) and though oft times we have been obliged 
 to take our coffee in the cellar, we have never 
 ceased to laugh in derision of the Bodies who 
 hoped to spoil our appetites. 
 
 Of medium height, portly in demeanour, 
 with snow white hair and piercing blue eyes, 
 Madame Jeanne Macherez, the widow of our 
 former senator from the Aisne, is a woman well 
 over sixty years of age. 
 
 In direct contrast is the svelte figure, high 
 colored oval face and flashing black eyes of her 
 companion, Mademoiselle Sellier, a young wo- 
 man still in the early twenties. 
 
 The outbreak of the war found Madame 
 Macherez, President of the Local Chapter of 
 the Association des Dames Francaises (French 
 Women's War Relief) which, however, had 
 been a leading charity for civilians for many 
 years past. 
 
 With Mademoiselle Sellier as secretary and 
 companion, she organised any number of hos- 
 [252] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 pital units sent directly to the front, and up 
 until the last of August, 1914, busied herself 
 with the ever increasing number of wounded 
 occasioned by the great retreat. 
 
 On August thirty-first, a Government de- 
 cree ordered every valid man between the ages 
 of fifteen and fifty to evacuate the city to es- 
 cape capture by the oncoming German hordes. 
 Likewise all persons holding office were invited 
 to decamp, taking with them their books, 
 papers and other valuables. 
 
 This practically emptied the place of men, 
 but it was astonishing the number of women 
 and children that remained. 
 
 Quickly realising the gravity of the situation, 
 Madame Macherez saw that, invasion or no in- 
 vasion, something must be done to forestall the 
 dilemma of those who had been left behind. As 
 the only remaining official of any kind, she 
 betook herself to the town hall, and it was there 
 before closed doors that the German com- 
 mander awaited her pleasure on the entrance 
 to the city, September 1st, 1914. 
 
 "We want the Mayor", was the brutal de- 
 mand, as the woman opened the door. 
 
 "I'm the Mayor", was the simple reply. 
 [253] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 The officer was nonplussed but quickly re- 
 covered. 
 
 "This is no time for pleasantry, Madame. If 
 what you say is true we shall deal with you as 
 with a man." 
 
 "After what they say you do to women, I'd 
 just as soon you would," was the prompt cour- 
 ageous answer. 
 
 The officers pretended not to understand and 
 lead the way through the empty offices, audibly 
 expressing their disgust at finding them all 
 empty of their precious papers. After install- 
 ing their men in the vacant places at the end 
 of a short time, Madame Macherez was pre- 
 sented with a paper. 
 
 "Here is the list of what we wish to levy 
 upon the city. Since you and your companion 
 have volunteered as officials, we shall consider 
 you as hostages, and if what we have asked for 
 is not delivered here in the public square by 
 five o'clock this evening, both you and she will 
 be shot!" 
 
 Mademoiselle Sellier goes on to tell how 
 Madame Macherez calmly adjusted her spec- 
 tacles, and not in the least unnerved by the 
 threat, proceeded to scan the paper from top to 
 [254] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 bottom, making pencil notes on the margin. 
 She read and reread it several times. Then ris- 
 ing she went over to the officer, and in the cool- 
 est manner possible proceeded to inform him 
 that there was just one thing he had forgotten 
 on his list. 
 
 "And what may that be Madame?" 
 
 "The moon", was the daring reply which 
 startled the man who could hardly believe he 
 understood aright. 
 
 "It would be just as easy for me to procure 
 you the moon or stars", the woman continued, 
 "as to reply with my life for such provisions 
 as you demand. Believe me sir, I have lived in 
 this city sixty years. I realise that in normal 
 times it might just be possible — but consider- 
 ing that hardly a valid man remains, it were 
 hopeless to think of obtaining half you ask." 
 
 The officer realised her sincerity, and not 
 being a fool, asked what she might suggest. 
 
 "I propose that you allow me to make a list, 
 which will be a personal appeal to every citizen 
 in my city. You shall verify and I will sign it, 
 and in an hour's time every bill-board in Sois- 
 sons shall bear witness of my willingness to pro- 
 tect my compatriots by serving you." 
 [ 255 ] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 Her advice was carried out, and needless to 
 say, long before the appointed hour the little 
 Square in front of the City Hall was piled high 
 with the spoils that war gave an invading army 
 the right to levy on humble French toilers. 
 
 Among my trophies to-day is a much 
 weather beaten poster which I soaked care- 
 fully from the wall during my last visit, and 
 shall always cherish as a remembrance of a 
 French woman's courage. 
 
 Inch by inch she wrestled with the obnoxious 
 invader, ceding her rights only under the men- 
 ace of instant death, and never hesitating to 
 say frankly what she thought of their barbaric 
 ways. 
 
 It is little wonder then that she is adored by 
 the entire civil population for whose welfare 
 she risked her life. On the return of our glori- 
 ous troops she took her mission of mercy among 
 them as quietly as though nothing had hap- 
 pened, untiring in her efforts to procure them 
 the necessary comforts. 
 
 Up until the last few weeks (June, 1917) 
 
 real hospital work has been almost impossible 
 
 in the martyr city, but the refugees, who as 
 
 stragglers or in bands, have been returned to 
 
 [256] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 our territory through gradual or monster offen- 
 sives, all know the way to the Rue du Coq- 
 Lombard, and all are unanimous in their praise 
 of its lone inhabitants. 
 
 Such was the woman who greeted me on that 
 cold January morning. 
 
 "Delighted to see you, Madame Huard, al- 
 though I imagine that it is dire necessity which 
 procures me the pleasure. What made you 
 choose this day of all days? Everything leads 
 us to believe that a big battle is beginning, and 
 I have just received orders to evacuate my hos- 
 pital in the college. The civilians may possibly 
 be obliged to go too." 
 
 I explained my mission. 
 
 "Yes, surely, you can have all our tobacco 
 now. Come over to the College at once and 
 we will make arrangements for your return 
 trip." 
 
 [257] 
 
X 
 
 
 What a mad dash we made to reach the Col 
 lege. The shriek of shot, and screeching of 
 projectiles as they passed none too far above 
 us, made it impossible to hold one's head erect. 
 Shrapnel pattered like rain upon the roofs, 
 while without the slightest warning shutters 
 and chimneys would disintegrate and fall into 
 the street before us, blinding us with the debris. 
 As each new detonation announced the depart- 
 ure of a heavy shell we would flatten ourselves 
 against the wall, clinging there in terror until 
 a few seconds later we realised that our last 
 moment had not yet come. 
 
 Most of the firing seemed to be aimed at our 
 unfortunate Cathedral, which stood broadside 
 to the enemy, though from the clouds of dust 
 that arose after each explosion, one could tell 
 they had fallen wide of their mark, doubtless 
 annihilating some minor building completely. 
 
 The courtyard in the College presented a 
 wild scene of animation. A shell had just 
 fallen in the very centre smashing an ambu- 
 [258] 
 
n 
 
 ~ .„ ,*» 
 
 4^ 
 
 W it 
 
 
 
 STTTR 
 
 << 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 .. 
 
 I » 
 
 - 
 
 , 
 
 CALM AMtt) THE GENERAL TtJMULT 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 lance and digging its way into the ground so as 
 to form a crater. On every side other cars 
 were backed up and being filled with white 
 faced wounded men whom the infirmiers 
 carried out on stretchers and thrust into the 
 vans. 
 
 Officers, calm amid the general tumult, stood 
 and verified the contents of each ambulance, 
 which as soon as filled was cranked up and 
 rushed out of the city. 
 
 Another shell had exploded in the Chapel, 
 and half a hundred men were vainly struggling 
 to save their comrades, who pinned beneath the 
 wreckage, were shrieking with pain and de- 
 spair. 
 
 Madame Macherez looked worried, and in- 
 deed there was cause. I almost regretted hav- 
 ing come for my presence had only added to her 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Follow me", she said gathering her skirts 
 about her md hurrying down the long hall. At 
 the very end she turned abruptly and entered a 
 darkened room which seemed surrounded by 
 cupboards. 
 
 "Where's Gilbert?" she demanded of an In- 
 firmier who hurried past the door. 
 [259] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Caught in the Chapel," came the reply, as 
 the fellow sped on his way. 
 
 "Stop", cried the woman imperiously. The 
 man obeyed. 
 
 "Get me two men with guns to break in these 
 doors. Gilbert probably has the keys on him 
 so it's useless to wait." 
 
 As we stood there neither of us spoke and the 
 roar of battle even drowned our thoughts. I 
 feel certain, however, that neither she nor I 
 had the slightest fear. We were merely 
 anxious to accomplish our tasks as rapidly as 
 possible. 
 
 The soldiers appeared, and in spite of the 
 gravity of the moment I could not help re- 
 gretting the circumstances that made necessary 
 the destruction of those wonderful oak panelled 
 doors. It was particularly distressing to have 
 to do it ourselves when the Germans had al- 
 ready caused so much damage. A spark of 
 anger kindled in my breast at the apparent joy 
 with which the soldiers set to their task. 
 
 In a short time mid splinters of oak a hole 
 revealed the neatly packed tobacco. 
 
 "Go and ask Albert for four canvas bags, 
 ration bags, and don't be gone an hour", or- 
 [260] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 dered Madame Macherez. The wreckers dis- 
 appeared returning promptly with the sacks. 
 
 "Now then, pile them full", said she, desig- 
 nating the tobacco to the soldiers, who lost no 
 time complying with the request. 
 
 "You can't possibly get away with more than 
 four", explained my companion. "As it is I 
 can't quite see how you're going to get away 
 at all, but then . . ." 
 
 We retraced our steps in the corridor, the 
 soldiers dragging behind them the bags which 
 they had firmly closed by a bit of string. 
 
 The same excitement was prevalent every- 
 where as the evacuation rapidly progressed, 
 but to the din was now added the lamentations 
 of the civilians who were being hurried into 
 huge ten seated motors drawn up below the 
 College wall. The Sous-Prefet was on the 
 spot to see that all obeyed orders, but his pres- 
 ence did not diminish the cries of those who had 
 but a moment's warning, and were given no 
 time even to collect even their most precious be- 
 longings. 
 
 "Where are you sending us? How long 
 shall we be away!", wailed one woman with a 
 baby on her arm. 
 
 [261] 
 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Freddie's gone for the milk, can't leave 
 without him. He's my only child," shrieked 
 another. 
 
 A young girl and a very old woman ap- 
 peared bearing a cripple in their arms. The 
 tears were streaming down the old woman's 
 face. 
 
 "No animals allowed", growled a sentinel as 
 an elderly woman sought to take her place with 
 a bird cage and a cat. She climbed down and 
 walked away. 
 
 In one corner a couple silently bid each other 
 adieu. The man remained behind. 
 
 "En avant, en avantf\ urged the soldiers. 
 "Push up now, .there is room for another. 
 Never mind if you're crowded. The essential 
 is to get away." 
 
 The car started only to be replaced by an- 
 other. 
 
 Madame Marcherez after a moment's parley 
 with the Sous Prefet came back to where I 
 stood. 
 
 "Quick", said she turning to the soldiers, 
 "Hoist those bags on to the front seat", and 
 then to me. "This goes by way of Chateau 
 Thierry. They'll drop you there." 
 [262] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I grasped her hand and a second later clam- 
 bered into my seat, along with forty other 
 weeping, vociferating humans. 
 
 The engine sputtered and slowly we left the 
 scene of desolation, which was repeated again 
 and again at every street corner, on every 
 Public Square until we had left the city of sor- 
 row far behind. 
 
 As the morning advanced the occupants of 
 the bus grew calmer, all save an auburn haired 
 girl who sat next to me, had regained their 
 natural state. But the poor child's shoulders 
 heaved and heaved, and her suppressed sobs 
 told of her distress. 
 
 "What's the matter?", I queried gently, lift- 
 ing her head from her damp handkerchief. A 
 pair of big brown wistful eyes set in a pink and 
 white baby face, looked up in wonder at my 
 question. 
 
 "I couldn't find mamma to say good-bye, she 
 won't know what has become of me." And the 
 tears flowed afresh. 
 
 "Where are you going?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Have you no friends or relatives elsewhere 
 than Soissons?" 
 
 [263] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How old are you?" 
 
 "Sixteen." 
 
 "Have you any money?" 
 
 "Not a centime. I didn't even have time to 
 take my warm coat." A shiver ran up and 
 down the child's back. I unfastened my muf- 
 fler and wound it around her neck. 
 
 "But what shall you do if you are dropped in 
 some strange place?" 
 
 "I don't know. Seek work or starve!" 
 
 The case was exceedingly pathetic. 
 
 "Have you ever worked before?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, my mother taught me how. I used 
 to help Madame Macherez." 
 
 Ah, here at last was a bond between us. A 
 new light came into the girl's frightened eyes as 
 I told her I knew our common friend. 
 
 "I don't live far from here, would you come 
 home with me, and help in my hospital? It's 
 little I can promise." 
 
 "Gladly, Madame." 
 
 "Very well then, get down at Chateau 
 Thierry when I do." 
 
 The cannonade, which had redoubled in force 
 together with the arrival of the first omnibus 
 [264] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 filled with dishevelled refugees, had created 
 much excitement in Chateau Thierry. On 
 leaving Soissons something had happened to 
 the machinery of our car, and it was well into 
 the afternoon when we crawled into our hos- 
 pital centre. The crowd gathered round the 
 motor pressing each one with questions. 
 
 "Where are they taking you?" 
 
 "We don't know. Somewhere out of the 
 army zone without doubt." 
 
 "Has the whole place been evacuated?" 
 
 "Yes . . . no." 
 
 "And our men, are they holding the front? 
 A few moments ago it seemed as if the noise 
 was advancing in this direction. Do you think 
 they'll break our lines? It won't be another 
 retreat of the Marne will it?" 
 
 The Prefet elbowed his way through the 
 crowd, and was astonished to see me step from 
 the motor. 
 
 "I've adopted this child," said I pointing to 
 my shivering companion. "There's no reason 
 why I shouldn't take her home with me, is 
 there?" 
 
 "No indeed. Have you got your tobacco?" 
 Yes." 
 
 [265] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "May I ask you to telephone for my cart to 
 come and fetch me." 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 Our horse had been sent on an errand to La 
 Ferte and for five hours Marcelle and I sat 
 and waited in the dingy hallway of the pre- 
 fecture, the four huge sacks of tobacco being 
 the only things that consoled me for the time 
 lost. As night came on the booming of the 
 guns became more and more intense. A fright- 
 ful battle must now be raging, and I trembled 
 for Madame Macherez and her brave helper. 
 
 Weary of inaction I went and stood on the 
 Public Square where our 'bus had halted, eager 
 as were the others for news from those who had 
 left Soissons since my departure. 
 
 "They've cut the dykes." 
 
 "The whole of St. Vast is flooded. The city 
 is in flames." 
 
 This and other similar encouraging informa- 
 tion spread through the crowd and made us 
 shiver. 
 
 The drive in our rickety old farm cart 
 seemed interminable, and I was surprised at 
 finding no one to greet me on my return from 
 [266] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 so perilous a journey, so depositing my new 
 maid and the tobacco in the kitchen, I hastened 
 to the wards, when a glance showed me why my 
 nurse had not been able to leave for even a 
 second. 
 
 "The sound of the guns has crazed them. 
 Some one started a panic by shrieking the Ger- 
 mans had broken through our lines. They 
 imagined they'd been forgotten." 
 
 From the next room a hoarse voice called 
 out — 
 
 "Are you all deaf boys, can't you hear? 
 They're bearing down on us, don't let's stay 
 and be slaughtered. If I lead will you follow? 
 Where are our guns? Who's taken my shoes?" 
 
 All during the night we went from bed to bed 
 comforting and consoling, arguing and affirm- 
 ing that of which we ourselves were none too 
 sure. 
 
 Two days later the papers announced the 
 victory of our arms at Hill 132. 
 
 Weeks sped by and nothing further seemed 
 to mar the regularity, or particularly enliven 
 the monotony of our hospital routine. 
 
 With plenty of tobacco and the days grow- 
 [267] 
 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 ing longer and brighter the lads seemed to 
 grasp themselves more firmly, to be more will- 
 ing to make a fight for their existence. From 
 what I could learn the epidemic itself was now 
 well in hand, and we would probably be allowed 
 to keep our patients through their convales- 
 cence later on. 
 
 Several changes took place in our domestic 
 staff. The Heavenly Twins being now con- 
 sidered fit to join their regiments, left us mid 
 the general lamentations of the entire hospital, 
 both promising to abandon their former careers 
 to return and work for us at Villiers when the 
 war should be over. 
 
 This set Barbarin to thinking, and in a burst 
 of emotion he confided to me that he had had 
 enough of the "Free life", and would now be 
 content to enter the domestic service as major- 
 domo, or head butler to some kind American. 
 
 The calm after a storm told swiftly on my 
 physical condition and I realised I had been liv- 
 ing on my nerves. I was pronounced a fit sub- 
 ject for the operating table, and to my dismay 
 was informed that it was not at home, but in a 
 private hospital in Paris that my annoying ap- 
 pendix was to be removed. 
 [268] 
 
MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 
 
 I had planned my departure so as to disturb 
 no one, but when the motor that had called for 
 me at a little side gate passed over the bridge 
 onto the main road, I looked back and saw them 
 all standing on the steps waving me a fond 
 Adieu, and for want of something more appro- 
 priate shrieking, 
 
 "Vive la France." 
 
 [269] 
 
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