understand that he had something to communicate to her. Inquiring if it were safe, he suddenly leaned down and drew out from the sole of his shoe, a piece of paper on which was written, "A banker of Brussels sends greetings--all are well." The little woman burst into a flood of tears for she realized that it was a message from her husband, one of the _Garde Civique_ of Brussels. During the three, long, anxious weeks of devotion to others, I had often remarked and wondered at her courage in never mentioning her own longing and apprehension for her husband and three little children. Before we had recovered from the first onslaught of the army, she must have known, after it left here, that it would pa.s.s their chateau three kilometres the other side of Brussels and what would it leave in its wake? Can you imagine her anxiety, when every day we were hearing frightful stories of children having their hands chopped off and people's heads being paraded on bayonets? But I never remember her uttering a single "I wonder," or an "I wish." Does this not bear out what the ill.u.s.trious Roman said about the "Belgians," which certainly did not exclude the women? It is the grandest thing that ever could be--this response of the women to the Nation's call, for it is not just pa.s.sive self-sacrifice, but impa.s.sioned co-operation.

In the afternoon Madame de H. and I went to Liege to arrange her pa.s.sport for Brussels. Two of the officers who are here offered to go with us in order to facilitate an entrance into the "_Kommandantur_,"

which is the general headquarters and is in that ancient and beautiful place of the _Princes-Eveques_, onetime feudal lords of the princ.i.p.ality of Liege. I wanted to rebel openly when I saw that wonderful court, world-famous for its beauty, which has been turned into a depot of supplies and barracks with horses stabled under those delicate, Gothic arches, models of purity and beauty. But to what good? Will anything ever expiate the offense? There are also horses in the theatre and machine guns in all the upper windows.

While Madame de H. was waiting to see Count Moltke in his office, I walked about the court with one of the soldier attendants who came with us and had an opportunity of peeking through many doors which would otherwise have been closed to me. My companion, who is a wholesale grain merchant in peace times, enjoyed his authority immensely and dragged his sword, half unbuckled, on the ground, which clanked behind us and made merry music in his ears, I am sure. The whole place was a perfect beehive though there was little confusion. The soldiers were diligently counting supplies, feeding horses and sorting Belgian cannon and sh.e.l.ls which had been captured.

On the road from Angleur to Liege we were obliged to give way to some troops which were returning from Namur. The auto stopped right in the middle of a column, which, as we heard, was a conglomeration of the tag ends of different regiments and I was almost afraid--the men peered in at us so maliciously. I have never seen such a frightening spectacle of humanity, for it was the personification of a rogues' gallery with every kind of cut-throat, brigand and robber mixed up into a grand ensemble, toiling and perspiring, limping and crawling along in the dust and heat.

Does battle blot out the soul of a man in one savage conflict?

Obviously, it is before a weary march that one finds exalted faces. But perhaps they were not desperadoes--only tired and dirty and unshaven.

It is said, however, that when war was declared, the enemy opened the doors of all the prisons and that the front ranks of the attacking forces (which were sure to be lost) were entirely composed of convicts and prisoners. And also, the officers in the regular army are so hated by their men that when they started out to conquer the world every officer was changed to a different regiment.

This evening we sat on the terrace enjoying the afterglow of the setting sun and the calmness of the garden, listening to the soldiers singing in the orchard, next. This singing in the twilight is heartbreaking and particularly melancholy, as the music is slow and has more consolation in it than the usual soul-inspiring quality of battle hymns. At intervals we heard the captain speaking with great force and enthusiasm, the hurrahs of the men, an occasional "_Vaterland, Vaterland_," and again and ever, "_Die Wacht am Rhein._"

_August 26th, Wednesday._

Two new officers (not Prussians) of the _Landsturm_ arrived this morning--men of fifty to fifty-five years of age. One is a hardware merchant _en civil_ and has a brown beard and the asthma; the other is a lawyer, with big, blinking eyes--and they both looked as if they hated war. The "Englishman" is still here--his department is looking after supplies at the depot. He has borrowed all the English books in the house and sits reading all day up in the signal box at the station, so the family have named him "_Monsieur Seegnal Box_," which, with a tiny, French accent, sounds quite attractive.

We are so enthusiastic about our patients at the Convent, for they are all improving and developing personalities now. Every morning at eight-thirty we rush over there as quickly as we can to see how the poor children are getting on and who has another eye open. Nature has begun her restorative work and oh! what a satisfaction it is to see the new skin stretching out tiny shreds to bridge over the martyred flesh.

The atmosphere of the ward is gay. 'Most everybody can laugh, at least with their hearts, for stiffened lips do not all respond yet. The work has arranged itself in admirable routine, where humanity is not entirely swallowed up in duty. There are young girls and boys who fetch basins of water, old women who roll bandages, faithful, sweet-faced matrons who bind up dreadful wounds, and strong, young men who lift, so tenderly, pain-racked bodies and who can toss a joke or a word of encouragement with equal discretion, which never fails to infuse the down-hearted with their own priceless vitality. Then there is the _Mere Superieure_, of thin, aesthetic face, who comes with a gentle word of the "Faith" for each one; the austere _Soeur Felicite_, who counts the cups and searches your soul and brings in hot coffee and a steaming ragout; and the pretty, young _Soeur Monique_, with her uplifted face, who cannot conceal a shy admiration for big, blond Henri who rails at everything and is as lovable as a baby. Then the villagers: in the middle of the room, Monsieur B. (Secretary and Treasurer, I should say) cuts off gauze with a calculating eye at one end of a long table and at the other, rosy-cheeked Monsieur R. (painter of every house and barn in the village) stands all day long with a spatula in his hand and slaps on the ointment for dressings. There is a sort of professional twist in the gesture and his merry, little eyes glance around, not seeking but rather gathering in approval, and from under his bristling, white moustache will burst a salute for one, a joke for another, or a reproach for another.

Here, there and everywhere he is needed, is Monsieur F., whose great, dark eyes are acquainted with pain; he is a frail, little person and the substantial man of the village, a living paradox. Just when Monsieur R.

announces--dramatically waving his spatula--that that is the last ounce of boric ointment and no more peroxide in the cupboard and we are raving around and denouncing the pharmacist, Monsieur F. steps up and inquires what the trouble is, knowing full well the difficulty and also "his moment," wise man that he is. While we are swamping the situation with words, he quietly dispatches a boy to his house, who quickly reappears with huge bottles of this and that. Oh, blessed Monsieur F., who long since had made a corner in peroxide and everything else we shall need until after the war. But the despair of the moment, the heat and three, long hours of unremitting "dressings" effect a faintness of soul and a "queer" feeling we did not realize was there, until that dear, roly-poly _Soeur Anastasie_ appears with a bottle of red wine, half concealed under her cape, and with a motherly, "_ca vous fera du bien_," (that will do you good) pours us out a generous gla.s.sful. That puts the blue in the sky again and keeps the shafts of golden sunshine from creating zigzag patterns in our brain. Oh, Shades of my New England Ancestors!

Would you say, "Better to slip down in a swoon?"--and give everybody a lot of trouble--

_August 27th, Thursday._

Madame de H. and I again went to Liege early this morning about her pa.s.sports. The hotels and cafes were just seething humanity, beds improvised in every corner, and I saw officers paying their hotel bills with cheques and notes. The poor proprietor blinked and swallowed hard for a moment and said nothing. The city was literally packed with troops going in all directions. _Uhlans_, _cha.s.seurs_, artillery and the infantry, singing and executing that foolish-looking goose-step--it probably has its advantages, but at eight A. M. in the pouring rain it did appear ridiculous.

In the afternoon we took a walk into the country, following the railroad. The soldiers were working everywhere, putting up temporary buildings for any emergency. We saw one of those open dining halls--only three walls with a shed roof where a regiment can step out of a train to eat while another jumps quickly in and no time lost. We pa.s.sed the lovely chateau of the Marquis de T. who is Minister Plenipotentiary from Costa Rica. Of course, this is neutral property and flies a neutral flag, but the place is filled with officers and, according to the _maitre d'hotel_, the wine cellar is undergoing a thorough inventory.

_August 28th, Friday._

This morning there was excitement at the Convent; someone was reading a three weeks' old journal to the soldiers and for a moment everybody forgot his particular aches and black heads lifted themselves from their pillows and gaunt forms swayed to and fro on shaky elbows. The l.u.s.t of battle lit up wooden countenances, fire sprang from eyes yet heavily veiled by crusted lids and a fervent "_bien fait_" or "_vivent les Belges_," trembled from heretofore silent corners.

Madame Andre, who comes to see her boy every day, remarked my looking at her dress which was all darned and mended in the most unaccountable places, "O, Mademoiselle," she said. "I suppose you are wondering about my waist? But wasn't it lucky I was here with Andre when the troops pa.s.sed through our village? The soldiers fired haphazard in the windows and the wardrobe in which my clothes were hanging caught seven bullets and the headboard of my bed, four."

All the afternoon troops were coming back from Namur in evident haste and apparent rout, for they had such a tired, bedraggled look. About five o'clock a company with ammunition wagons, Red Cross ambulances and baggage trucks dashed madly into the orchard among the apple trees, nearly wrecking themselves and everything else. Immediately after, three officers came to the house to beg lodging for the night. They were frightful-looking individuals covered with mud and dirt, with half-grown beards and one could not tell what uniforms. They asked the most humble apartment--a corner, the floor--anything, "and, Madame, a little hot water, _s'il vous plait_." We were sitting on the terrace tonight just before dinner when down came the three new arrivals, beautiful as the morning, shaven and shining in their gray-green uniforms, polished boots and bracelets set with precious stones--officers of the "Emperor's Own,"

though these men did not seem like Germans, but were much more the lighter build and elegant type of the Austrians.

They were a bit haughty at first, but dinner thawed them out and then what tales they told us; the most promising imagination could not rival their flights in the air. They acted like people who walk in their sleep and had that same vague expression of the eye. But it is not to be wondered at, coming as they did from a frightful battlefield and fatigued by a hard march. It must be true that battle intoxicates men for these latter, being of a sensible age, did say very ridiculous things. Hitherto the officers who have been here were fairly modest though always showing an undeniable confidence, while these three openly bragged. The young lieutenant who sat next to me spoke French fluently and never stopped talking all the evening. Among countless other things, he said, "We are being sent back from Namur as Paris is taken"

(e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from me "I cannot believe it") "and they have no more need of us in that direction," he went on without turning a hair. "So we are _en route_ for England or Russia, in the morning, to conquer the seven nations (he included Monaco in the list) who have declared war against our beloved Vaterland."

"And, Mademoiselle," he continued, "they fired on our ambulances!"

"Ah?" I answered, nonchalantly, "the Germans have already done that here."

He was a bit taken aback at this rejoinder; then with a prodigiously sorrowful look he exclaimed in a hushed voice, "_Oui, la guerre est terrible._"

The victories they exploited on land and sea were fantastic and the funny part is, they believed thoroughly all they said. It is strange to hear serious people fabricate such yarns as they did, with as much dexterity as a spider spins its web.

_August 29th, Sat.u.r.day._

The ambulance was as busy as a beehive this A. M. Except for one or two, the patients are all feeling better. Andre, the third on the left, whose sonorous "_Merci, chere Soeur_" nearly frightened me to pieces one day, seems to be the wit and authority on all subjects--a real leader, I should say, and _drole_! Augustin, four beds from him, is our difficult child, the only one of the twenty-nine who is spoiled and fights his dressings, but we must be patient with him for he has been very sick and that drawn look about the nose and a certain, startled expression of the eyes, worry me. But the little _Soeur Victoire_ says comfortingly that he will soon be well, though he does not wish to eat and his jaws are a little stiff. O, _chere Soeur_, in your sweet faith, are stiffened jaws such a trivial circ.u.mstance?

Next Augustin is Sylvestre, _le beau_. He was the splendid _pointeur_ of Fort Chaudefontaine and was the least burned of the men; that is why I know he is beautiful; also I catch many glimpses of him in the little mirror in which he is constantly regarding himself, but he is _bon garcon_, nevertheless--his honest blue eyes attest it.

At the end of the row is the big Flamand, who was always two feet too long for his bed. He is sitting up now and that great, black head, with features swollen three times their normal size, is a sight to frighten the boldest. If he should roar at me I would drop everything and flee.

But he doesn't; n.o.body roars; for they are all the finest gentlemen in the world, even in their trying moments.

At ten o'clock this evening, right out of the silence, issued sounds of heavy, rolling carts, and horses' hoofs. Madame de H. and I stole out into the court to see what it might be and, almost as if by magic, whole regiments came pouring along in the greatest haste and disorder. A wing of the servants' quarters hid the approach of the soldiers from us and the strange, non-resonant quality of the atmosphere tonight deceived us as to their nearness. In a moment they were upon us--not three feet away, for some of the troops had taken, not the usual highroad two hundred feet distant, but a short cut by the narrow path which directly pa.s.ses the court yard. Happily we had hidden ourselves behind the grille, in the foliage, or we might have been shot without ceremony, as by order of the military governor of the city "every civilian shall be indoors and lights out at eight P. M."

We enjoyed the danger a little at first because we did not realize it; all the same we obliterated ourselves as much as possible, though hardly daring to move or breathe. Not an arm's length away, their nearness oppressed us and the waves of heat which reeked from their toiling bodies sickened us. But there we crouched in our light dresses, easily seen if one had chanced to look, and separated only by an iron fence with spa.r.s.e, fluttering vines from a ma.s.s of tired, quarrelsome, desperate men. Why! any of them might have run us through in a flash as one would lunge at a white rag for the amus.e.m.e.nt of his companions.

Indoors the family were frantic, not daring to open a crack of the door for fear of violent consequences to us.

The night was full of dull noises; even the clanking chains of the gun carriages seemed m.u.f.fled and the thud of horses' hoofs in the mud added to the air of secrecy which pervaded the scene, while the moonlight threw out shadows and drew crazy perspectives and showed up silhouettes of men positively falling from their seats with fatigue. Some one was twirling a French soldier's cap on a bayonet, we heard smothered yawns, the words "_Russland_," "_Vaterland_," and finally the infantry whistling in unison as they limped along.

_August 30th, Sunday._

At two o'clock in the morning the whole family was aroused by a thundering rap from the b.u.t.t of a gun on the big front entrance. The poor old butler, who has been in service thirty-five years, was aghast to open the door and find the Burgomaster, in white kid gloves, standing between two Prussian soldiers, with fixed bayonets. They demanded Monsieur J. (for the second time) as hostage. What could have happened among the people, we could only guess. Had they been rash enough to protest against strength and did they want to share the fate of the pitiful Vise?

The forenoon brought us no news; after lunch we walked in the broiling sun to the little railroad station at Kinklepois, to see Monsieur J.

(he had aged ten years over night) where he was under guard with several others, including _Monsieur le Vicaire_ of A. and _Monsieur l'Abbe_ of K. We sat around the table in the Concierge's tiny dining room and listened to some amusing anecdotes told by the Vicar, while the gentle old Abbot sent out to the vicarage for a bottle of his good old Burgundy. To be sure, no one was much in the mood to be amused, but it lessened the tension of the moment; the least unusual sound from the street--and it was full of soldiers and horses--brought the tale to a sudden end and we listened with blanched faces for perhaps--the worst.