The light of battle—of old battles fought long ago—came into her face as she raised her head and surveyed the scene.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Twenty years younger, I would have taken them myself.’
* * * * *
Late that afternoon the boat steamed into Dieppe, past the long low lines of the Quay, outlined by silent, watching people. As the women in uniform followed one by one down the gangway, the groups of sailors and porters gazed at them with grave attention. The English Consul had come to meet them, and wished that they were staying in Dieppe; for the hospitals were crowded with wounded and there were not enough helpers. The agent, M. Guérin, was there too, with his complement of empty trucks for the baggage, which, it now transpired, had not been put on the boat. The perjured purser, who had given assurances that all was well, stood ashamed; but M. Guérin, claiming him as a great friend of his son, demanded that he should use his best endeavours to expedite the missing luggage. Leaving them to arrange the matter between them, the women followed the Consul to the Douane.
A picturesque old French lady in a chenille cap asked no questions but made marks with a stubby bit of chalk on the hand-baggage; an excitable British Red Cross lady explained that nothing was any good here. ‘The red tape was awful—all the arrangements had broken down. The sepsis was appalling. The town was full of Germans whose legs and arms had been cut off and who were being sent to Havre next day like that!!’
And so talking the party came to the station, and travelling like soldiers, ‘sans billets,’ on account of their uniform, they were hustled into the train, which jolted slowly away.
The last part of the journey was very slow, and Paris was not reached till ten o’clock at night. From Pontoise onwards the train was held up at every little station, and gentlemen in blue blouses came to the carriage windows asking with immense interest who the travellers were and where they were going, or volunteering amazing information on military matters, and as it grew dark indicating lights which they called patrolling aeroplanes or signals or searchlights.
The Gare du Nord was dimly lit and there were no porters on the platform, but a representative of the French Red Cross met the train with the information that rooms were reserved in the Station Hotel. He watched with silent astonishment while Orderly Campbell and Orderly Hodgson commandeered a large luggage trolley and, having loaded it with all the bags and wraps, proceeded to trundle it out of the station. Then drawing a deep breath, he led the way through the darkness to the hotel. The station entrance to it was locked; the lifts were not working; the cuisinier was mobilised. There could be no supper. Impossible even to make a chocolat. But there were bedrooms on the third floor, and the ladies might go up and take their choice. So, shouldering the bags, they mounted the half-lit staircase, found a whole corridor of rooms at their disposal, and settled down cheerfully to picnic out of the still well-stocked luncheon baskets.
The following morning the President of the French Red Cross, Madame Pérouse, called at the Hôtel to discuss matters with Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray. She was a charming old lady, gentle and unaccustomed to office work. She was confused by the multiple claims made upon her, and oppressed by the burden of work, which was far beyond her strength and her powers.
Speaking no language but her own, without a stenographer or typewriter, and supported by officials who were all advanced in years, her difficulties must have been very great, and no one could blame her if she was not entirely successful. There was friction to contend with between the three branches of the Red Cross, which caused overlapping instead of co-ordination of effort; and each and every section had obstruction to meet from the Army Medical Department, the military authorities and the Military Governor of Paris. Thus, if the Society seemed slow in its decisions and uncertain in its action, there were extenuating circumstances; and the number of old people at the head of affairs could not fail to be a drawback. For has it not been written: ‘Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period’?