Captain Lucy in France

by Aline Havard

There were no two ways open. As the Germans entered the library Lucy slipped through the broken window, and dropping on her hands and knees, crawled along the stone terrace, over a broad parapet of sand-bags rising in her way, until she reached the lawn. That voice had been heard beyond the château walls, for as, shaking with fear, she looked back to where the sentry paced, she saw the man running up the steps of the terrace toward the library windows. Without waiting for more she rose to her feet and ran like a deer to the crest of the hill, where it sloped down to the valley. She was well ahead of the precipitous rocks down which Captain Beattie had planned his descent. She made for the gentler declivity in front, dodging about a big raised platform that was a German gun-emplacement. As she crossed the clearing, which opened like a little amphitheatre in the woody hillside, a marble summer-house set in the centre, big raindrops began to fall. Lightning glared from the heavy storm-clouds and the rumbling thunder was succeeded by a tremendous peal. Then the pine trees swallowed her up, and she began to feel her way among the trunks, which bent and groaned about her in the fierce gusts of wind.

Whether the front of the hill was guarded below the crest Lucy had no idea. Even had she known there were sentries about her she could have done nothing else than press on, panting, in the windy darkness, the growing downpour of rain penetrating the branches and striking on her head and shoulders. Now and again the lightning shone on her path, revealing the rough, wet trunks and writhing green boughs around her, and the thunder, crashing overhead, drowned the incessant noise of the wind and rain. The storm had become the only enemy against which she struggled as, step by step, she fought her way down the slope. At last, when a strong blast of wind showed her she was nearing the open, a flash of lightning disclosed the gleaming wet swamp and the level ground around it at the base of the hill.

Beneath the last pine tree Lucy flung herself on the ground to catch her breath. She was drenched from head to foot. With wet fingers she felt inside her dress to see that Captain Beattie’s precious paper was safely held in its scrap of canvas and protecting handkerchief. Reassured, she pushed her dripping hair from her face and stared out over the swamp. She knew that great obstacles were still before her. But she had burned her bridges. To retreat through the château was unthinkable.

In a few minutes the rain and wind began to diminish, and the clouds overhead parted, turning from black to gray. The lightning became less frequent and the thunder sank to a sullen muttering. Lucy studied the sky with deep anxiety. She was eager to have the lightning cease, but knowing the uncertainty of summer storms, she dreaded lest the clouds should drift entirely by and the moon appear, while she was still before the enemy’s eyes. There was no time to lose, and she had begun to fear that Wilhelm’s master might put the men in the trenches on guard against the unknown intruder. She sprang up and stepped out on level ground, and into the spongy, yielding earth at the border of the marsh.

She knew that the trenches were close behind on her left, and a shiver ran through her as her foot withdrew from the soaked ground with a loud squelching noise. On a quiet night any sound might have reached her from where the soldiers watched behind their defenses, but in the rumbling thunder and the gusts of wind blowing away the last of the rain she heard no sign of their presence. The reedy grass came above her waist as she stooped forward, feeling her way along the precarious footing, every nerve and muscle on the alert to receive the warning of danger. An occasional backward glance at the château towers rising above the gloom of the hill was her only guide, for the plain stretched dimly in front until it was lost in obscurity. Suddenly, with a frightened squawk, a big marsh-bird rose with flapping wings from under her very feet. With loud cries at such unexpected disturbance it fluttered over her head, and only settled down once more when she had been reduced to abject terror. Whether the keen ears behind her became suspicious at the bird’s alarm, or whether the quieting of the storm made sounds more clearly audible, Lucy at that moment heard a voice.

It came from the trenches, but what it said or ordered she had no idea. It gave strength and speed to her tired and trembling limbs, so that she fled on across the marsh nearly as fast as though she were on dry and level ground. Her ankles ached unbearably, and her beating heart hammered against her ribs when she stumbled on to a little ridge of grassy ground just beyond the swampy bottom. With stooping shoulders and head bent down she had no chance to see ahead. Now she looked up and saw the dull gleam of water only a few yards in front. With a sigh of utter weariness she dropped to the wet earth and lay motionless.

A bright glow reflected in the waters of the pond made her start up. She thought of lightning, but one glance showed her the graceful, rocket-like form of a star-shell falling across the sky. It came from the Allies’ lines. The French and Americans were on the watch for any surprise attempted under cover of the cloudy darkness. Lucy sank back to earth, a bitter reproach in her heart for this friendly weapon discharged against her. The light sputtered out, and with the return of darkness she sat up and struggled for courage to go on. She drew Captain Beattie’s message from inside her dress and tied the handkerchief around her forehead like a close-fitting bandage. She felt doubtfully of her rubber soled sneakers, and deciding they were too light to impede her progress, crept forward to the edge of the pond.

At that moment a sound which she had heard a second before and wondered at was unmistakably repeated. The Germans in the trenches were replying to the star-shell with a scattering fire. The shots were few and far apart, but Lucy heard one bullet sing over her head, and that was enough. There is a courage that comes with desperation, and it was this which caused her to crawl instantly forward into the lake and strike out across it.

The cool water brought a welcome sense of refreshment and cleared her whirling mind a little. She swam on strongly, trying hard to make no sound and to keep her arms beneath the surface, and searching the sky with frightened eyes, dreading to see another star-shell flaring up. She heard no more shots behind her, and this brought back a little hope. She struggled to keep the stroke even, and not to hurry it, for the pond was at least one hundred feet across, and she was burdened by her clothing. But to swim slowly and calmly was too much for her. She could not resist bursts of speed as, from the darkness behind, her straining ears imagined every sort of approaching peril. When at last she neared the opposite bank, her breath was coming in painful gasps and she was dangerously near exhaustion. With a few more frenzied strokes she managed to get within her depth, and in another moment crawled weakly out on to the grassy field beyond.

She lay there on her back, a prayer of thankfulness on her lips, though, as she untied the handkerchief from about her head, she watched the sky with fresh anxiety. The clouds were rapidly dispersing and a faint silvery gleam announced the moon’s coming. She thought that in another quarter of an hour these level fields would be flooded with moonlight, and she, too far from either line to be closely distinguished, would be a target for both sides. But she had to have breath to move, and for five minutes longer she lay panting before she rose from the ground and began plodding wearily on, her body bent forward and her feet stumbling over the little grassy hummocks in her way. A line of dark objects, coming suddenly into view, gave her a sickening pang of fear. But as she crept up to them they proved to be only the stumps of what had been a row of trees bordering a field. It seemed to Lucy that she had struggled on for long miles through the darkness when all at once the moon shone out in cloudy radiance. With a gasp she stopped short, staring wildly before her. Not three hundred yards in front a tangle of posts and barbed wire extended before the Allies’ trenches.