The round trip completed, Don and Wash at the base hospital, re-stocked their car for any emergency. They started out on a new road, coming up with the tail end of the marines in their big camions—passing them, one by one. The way led east, then south and east again, passing first through the town of Senlis, then around the little city of Meaux, then away on a splendid road toward Rheims. Before reaching the objective beyond the town of LaFerté, the road crossed the beautiful Marne, called a river, though Don regarded it merely a big creek, as it would be called in America.
Oh and ever on, rumbled the camions, the yellow lorries with the marines, and Don expected again to catch sight of Clem Stapley. However, it was not these fighting men that most interested him, for on this Rheims road the boy saw for the first time what he would probably never see again—refugees, fleeing from the German army.
It was a sight never to be forgotten—one to wring pity out of the most stony-hearted, to sober the most waggish, to sadden the gentler-minded as hardly even death, or the suffering of the wounded could do. Driven from their homes, fearing the wrath of the invader, expecting only to return and find all their property destroyed, except the little they could carry away, given over to pillage, or the flames. They trudged along, embittered by injustice, powerless to protest, stolid or weeping, but all of one mind. They sought only a place of safety from the Huns. They were mostly afoot; many old men, the younger and middle-aged women and the stronger boys and girls were the beasts of burden, carrying or drawing great loads in makeshift carts, or light wagons, the more fortunate having horse or cow, or perhaps donkey or dog, harnessed to help. On these loads rode the smaller children and the very aged.
Even the soldiers, singing and laughing as they went on to battle, some of them to death or lifelong suffering, and as gay as if nothing but a picnic lay before them, ceased their music and raillery, when they saw the first of these refugees.
The French medical officer at the evacuation hospital near LaFerté spoke enough English to make himself understood by the American Red Cross ambulance drivers, half a dozen of whom had reported to duty before Don arrived on the scene. These fellows greeted him exuberantly and all stood in a row ready to receive orders.
“One of ze dressed staisheon ess more veree far up ze road at zee feets of one hill, m’sieu’. Eet is maybe one kilo from zee enemy at ze Château-Thierry. Go where eet is and carry all ze wound’ you can to bring heem par-ici. Then we operate and dispose, m’sieurs. Allons!”
The ambulances raced away in a string, Don leading. Then began again the experiences of near approach to the battle line, hearing the almost constant rattle of small arms and the hardly less continuous roar of larger guns, seeing the shattered buildings and trees and shell-holes in the most unexpected places. The military police were on duty along the roads. Military messengers were hurrying back and forth. Brancardiers were crossing and re-crossing the fields, with their stretchers empty or laden. Field artillery was moving forward to position. Troops were going in to engage the enemy, or coming out to rest and others waiting in reserve. Ammunition carriers lugged forward their heavy loads. Food for the men in battle was being prepared in hastily set-up kitchens. Sometimes a shell exploded and punctuated the tremendous activity.
“Now then, Wash, mind your eye. We’ve got to get in where, any minute, we may run into a big bang and go up a mile high, or maybe get buried alive or dead under about a ton of earth. Here’s where it is you’ve been saying you’d like to get—right in among the fighters. So be prepared for the worst!”
“Ah ain’t ezakly ready fo’ no sech carryin’s on ez dis,” the darky remarked, rolling his ivory eye-balls until Don thought the pupils would go out of sight and stay there. “How—how long we gotta stay yere an’ what’s de mattah wiv me jes’ droppin’ off ’bout dis place ’en waitin’ twill yu-all gits back from in yondah? Kaint see how Ah’s gwine be much use nohow.”
“You stay right on this car!” ordered Don. “What did you come for? When you get hit, then it’s time to talk about quitting. From your color I didn’t believe you had a single streak of yellow in you.”