The Cellar House of Pervyse - Chapter 13 - Shelled Out

'The Cellar-House of Pervyse'

A Tale of Uncommon Things from The Journals and Letters of the Baroness t'Serclaes and Mairi Chisholm

A Story of Two British Volunteer Nurses on the Yser Front

Chapter XIII - Shelled Out

Geneal JAacquez, commanding the Belgian Army, had been once or twice to call upon the ladies of the poste. But when he came in a day or two after this, accompanied by three staff officers, there was something official in his air which set them on the alert. Mrs. Knocker and Mairi stood before him, a little confused at the magnificence of his salute, which had a sort of special impressiveness about it. They watched him, wondering what on earth was coming as he drew out a paper; was this at last a "notice to quit." The General's air of satisfaction hardly portended that. 

He said with great dignity, "I have been sent by His Majesty the King of the Belgians to inform you that he has created you Knights (Chevaliers) of the Order of Leopold II, and I ask you, ladies, to accept my most sincere congratulations," and he handed them the King's Order. 

For a moment they stood stock-still, dumb-founded, not realizing all it meant, only perceiving with a rush of gladness that what they had tried to do had been known and appreciated by the hero-King, for whom they cherished the deepest admiration. 

It was so unexpected that it was a little difficult to assimilate. From time to time some of the officers had let fall hints of a possible decoration, but that it would be other than a medal, bestowed at the end of the war, had never entered their heads. It was not until General Jacquez had left that they were able to think coherently, and then they drank each other's health in a glass of Horlick's malted milk. 

It came out later that the King's attention had been drawn to them since that first awful day at Melle, when they had insisted on going back under fire and bringing out the German wounded. The episode of their driving to Fumes, alone and unprotected, five German prisoners, had also been brought to the King's notice; Mrs. Knocker's marvellously heroic work in driving the ambulances under terrible conditions, when even hardened chauffeurs gave way, had made her name famous; and their steady and purposeful work under constant fire at Pervyse, where the King had himself seen them, had been the culminating point. One thing had led to another, and had it not been for the previous work, which had shown such unusual qualities of pluck and devotion, the development of this poste at Pervyse could never have been permitted. It was only very exceptional women who could be trusted to keep their heads amid such strange and trying conditions, which demanded the utmost discretion and resource. And now that the King had set his seal upon the work and given it his countenance they were in quite a different position. Gipsy recognized with joy, not only the personal honour, which she valued as highly as anyone could, but the greatly increased opportunities of usefulness it opened the way for in the future. 

The sequel came in a message from the King, asking whether they would like him to send the insignia, or whether they would go to him to receive the decoration at his hands. They chose the latter, naturally. The day fixed was February 1, on which many of the officers were to be decorated; curiously enough, it coincided with the birthday of little Kenneth, Mrs. Knocker's only child. The two who were to be decorated had agonisedly inquired of everyone exactly what was the etiquette of the occasion, and what they ought to say and do; but they were both extremely nervous, and a cold, blustery day did not improve matters. Here is Mairi's description of that nerve-trying morning: "A lot of dashing round trying to find things, and vainly hoping to improve our appearances; falling over everything, and getting in each other's way." 

The wind blew straight from the sea, bringing with it a tang that bit pink cheeks and made noses unbecomingly red. They were clad in weather-stained khaki knickers, long leather coats, and high boots, with khaki wool caps bearing in brass letters the number of the army division to which they were attached. They stood ranged in rank at the end of a long line of officers for about three hours. Mairi is much the fairer of the two, and her clear blue eyes have something in them of the glint seen in the eyes of a man who knows not fear. They are so limpid and candid, no one could dream of the horrid experiences and revolting sights which have bitten deep into the life of this brave little Scot, and have, so she says, made her feel ten years older since she went to Belgium. Mrs. Knocker's eyes are hazel, or, as someone has called them, "khaki-colour"! 

All the hastily acquired ideas concerning etiquette fled from their minds when the immensely tall King towered above them, his sad, deep-blue eyes looking down upon them as he pinned the Cross on their tunics. He talked with them a long time in English, and asked many questions about Pervyse, expressing his personal gratitude for their work among his beloved soldiers; and when he had passed on to decorate others, they realized with something like dismay that he had so completely enthralled them they had quite forgotten to curtsey, and had talked with him as if he had been a kind friend or one of the officers who came familiarly in and out of the génie house. 

The tufty grass was iced, and when they came to themselves again they found their feet were too! 

Miss May Sinclair, in an article in the Daily Chronicle about this time, says: 

"The special correspondent has missed Mrs. Knocker altogether, and yet perhaps it is by her services and those of Miss Mairi Chisholm that the Munro Ambulance has best proved the fitness of women in the actual field." She goes on to speak of what they had endured. "The net of death around a field ambulance is at times woven so fine that only by a miracle can they escape it." There was no limelight on the field at Melle, on that road between Dixmude and Furnes, or among the blood and straw in the cellar at Pervyse." 

In a private letter to one of Mrs. Knocker's near relations Miss Sinclair says: 

"You will have heard of the great honour that has just been bestowed on lier (Mrs. Knocker) and Miss Chisholm: they have both been made Chevaliers de l'Ordre de Leopold II., which is a great honour, and given by the King himself. I dare say she has not been able to tell you how thoroughly she has deserved it; but you will realize that. I am rejoiced that it has come so soon, and come to them alone of the corps, for there is not one of them that has done such fine work so unobtrusively and untiringly or shown quite such splendid courage as they. And it has been so sad to know all this, and to see other people getting the credit for what they have done —the establishing and carrying through of the dressing-station at Pervyse was done by Mrs. Knocker and Miss Chisholm only. I hear that there are several conjectures as to what particular deed has won them this honour.” 

"I wish I could have done more to make their splendid work known as it should be. It was enough honour for any woman to have been with them and to have seen some of it." 

However, when the new decorations were freshly pinned on their tunics they were very shy about them, and, buttoning their leather coats over them, they went into the town to try to buy something "special" to take back to celebrate the occasion, and to their great joy managed to procure a leg of mutton! In the inn they encountered some of the naval officers who had not been present at the ceremony, and were surprised to see them both together so far from their "cheery little village." Their curiosity was uncompromisingly snubbed, but men of the sea are not easily put off' when they want to know anything, and at last they wormed out the secret. Then they called, "Three cheers for King Albert," until the roof rang. 

"It was Justice with a big 'J' when you were singled out," said one of them cordially. "So far as I know, you are actually the only women right up in the firing-line at all—and you jolly well shouldn't be," he added, after a pause. 

It was true. Nurses work at base hospitals which are established beyond the fire-zone; some canteens are fairly near, but none can be said to be right up at the front. But these two girls had not only been there, but been there all the time, which is more than could be said of the soldiers themselves, who were withdrawn and changed at intervals. Members of the ambulance corps had dashed in and out and given a hand now and again, but Gipsy and Mairi were the only two who had, in the slangy but expressive phrase, "stuck it out" all the time. The poste was due to them, and them alone. It was Gipsy's idea, and her personality only had made it possible. Yet this view was not taken in all quarters; there were some who loved the limelight, and having been in it pretty frequently, thought the King must have suffered from myopia to pass them over, though as a matter of fact he had really proved his uncommon keenness of vision. 

On their arrival back at Pervyse the Two found themselves plunged into a white heat of excitement; the avant-poste, right out on the long road across the water, had been taken by the Germans! So often had they visited that poste at nights with jugs of hot chocolate that they felt a keen personal interest in it, and when the Belgian guns began to talk and express their views of the matter they listened with eager attention, wondering anxiously if the shells fell straight and true. The noise, of course, was terrific; this was no time for economising munitions, and the many batteries went to work whole-heartedly to help out the infantry, and by ten o'clock that evening the poste was recovered. Now that the King had recognized their work it was on a different footing altogether. The Headquarter Staff approached Gipsy with a request that she would open another poste, similar to that at Pervyse, elsewhere on the front. A higher compliment could hardly have been paid to the utility of the work, but there were great difficulties in the way of compliance. It would be impossible to have the two postes sufficiently near together to be run at once; even the coming and going between the two houses in little Pervyse had been a greater strain than they had anticipated, and yet, if the postes were to be run separately, who was to look after them? Excellently trustworthy as Mairi had proved herself, she was too young to be left in charge of one alone. So they asked for time to consider the matter, and meantime went to Wimereux for a few days' holiday with friends, and while there celebrated Mairi's nineteenth birthday. She had a birthday-cake with a Cupid and candles in the centre, though the Cupid surely must have been a jest, as he was not in Mairi's line at all! 

When they returned on March 3 they were greeted by a salvo of shells, and the pluck and nerve possessed by nineteen-years-old can best be gauged by the following incident: 

Two men were brought into the poste too far gone for anything to be done; they were bad head cases, the most shocking of all forms of wounds, and the brains were protruding. Mairi says: "Immediately they were dead we took them out and put them in the back yard; shells were coming in all the time. We helped to search through the clothes of the poor fellows. One, a boy of nineteen, had only been in the trenches two days. As I was searching through the pockets of a big overcoat, I came across the brains of one of the men, evidently blown there by the force of the explosion"—and she adds sedately, "a very curious incident." 

The shelling continued with unabated force, and the Belgian doctor, Martin, grew uneasy, saying the poste was no place for wounded men to be in, and they ought to get away at once. But what could be done? It was also much too dangerous to take them down that shell-swept street, so for the time they had to remain where they were. The next day terrible cases continued to accumulate, nearly all these ghastly head-wounds, which proved so fatal that one after another of the poor fellows had to be carried out and laid on the verandah. Poor lads, only about Mairi's own age, who had gone up singing to the trenches the evening before! All the morning of the 4th the cruel, heart-tearing work went on. Dr. Martin, who was one of the best and staunchest of men, slipped out to get his lunch with the officers, but returned directly afterwards. 

He was wanted elsewhere, and had only come back to get his mackintosh; while he stood there a military ambulance came up to carry away the dead bodies. It had required some fortitude for the chauffeur to bring it through, for the shelling was still going on, though it was not quite so bad as it had been. The chauffeur leapt from the car, and with that desperate feeling which leads everyone to rush to shelter, even though they know it affords no real protection, he ran into the kitchen, where were another chauffeur and the orderlies. As he did so, there came an appalling crash, one of those which spoke of something more than a mere burst, and they all knew the house itself had been struck. Stones and mortar came clattering down, and stray bricks flew about amid a great cloud of evil-smelling smoke and choking dust. The chauffeurs and orderlies staggered through into the living-room, where the shock had been slighter, holding their arms up over their faces to protect their eyes, which nevertheless were smarting with bits and splinters. 

As the confusion slowly calmed down, like a death-knell in the hearts of the two devoted women rang the word "Evacuation!" They knew there was no chance of staying after this. Once already they had hung on to a poste until it had actually been struck and they had been driven out, and now they must retreat a second time! 

"Get on your hats and coats, and make a rush for it," someone shouted. The chauffeur, recovering himself, gallantly went first, expecting every second the impact of another large shell, and got his car turned ready for the rest; then they all rushed out, tumbling into it pell-mell, knowing that each second's delay might cost them all their lives. So they fled, leaving a piece of their hearts behind at the dear little poste which had sheltered them. They were followed down the road by the Belgian doctor in his own car, but before they reached the brasserie, where was the headquarters of Colonel Flébus, the doctor was struck and fell. There was a boy from the Congo, personal attendant of one of the officers, a faithful lad who stuck to his master through thick and thin, and many times proved his brave heart. He dashed out and carried the doctor in triumphantly, and when he was examined they thought his wounds were not serious, and he would live for many a day to continue the work he had done so unweariedly. Alas, gangrene set in and he died! 

The Two were welcomed at the brasserie, and the Colonel said that of course they must give up all idea of being at the poste for the future. Once the German guns had been trained actually upon it, it was only a matter of time when it would be demolished altogether. So miserably they waited, their hearts heavy with sorrow, until about five o'clock, when, the shelling having subsided, they went back to collect all they could from the ruined house. It was a dismal sight. The kitchen was a shapeless mass, and in falling had made a natural tomb for the poor dead bodies on the verandah. The walls were riddled, and one soldier who had taken refuge in the shed adjoining, that they called the garage, had been killed as he stood. 

It was very difficult for the two friends to know where to go now they were refugees. However, that evening found them at La Panne, a little place on the sea-coast, the most miserable-looking objects you could find, covered with mud and blood, and terribly depressed at this wholesale retreat forced upon them, which came across their high spirits like a shameful bruise. 

They remained ten days or so at La Panne, walking along the sandhills and thinking things out. Everything was in a state of flux and uncertainty hard to bear. Some of the officers who knew Gipsy's passion for riding lent her their horses, and many a good gallop she had, passing through the dunes covered with coarse, bent grass, beaten down by the wind, out on to the firm, flat sands, where the grey sea frothed and moaned. 

One day she was riding with one of the artillery officers, and as she went off full stretch he was left a little behind. All at once he yelled "Halte!" with such swift unexpectedness and ferocity that she pulled up sharply, looking behind. "I really thought I must have dropped my horse's tail!" 

Amid the immensity of desolate sand walked one simple little lady who was taking an afternoon stroll, and the officer was sitting very erect in his saddle with his hand at the salute. All too late Gipsy gathered that she had ridden at full speed past the noble Queen of the Belgians, of whom it has been said, "She is the greatest heroine in history." It seemed as if Fate was to compel them to miss the Queen, and the chagrin was most mortifying. 

The Belgian military authorities soon communicated with Mrs. Knocker, and things began to be put on a better footing. The last threads that bound her and Mairi to the ambulance corps, now temporarily at Coxyde, were severed. The Two were officially attached to the Third Division of the Belgian Army. They were asked to continue their work, but at the same time it was announced that no women except these two were to be allowed near the front at all. It was inevitable. The establishment of the poste at Pervyse had been the signal for the crowd of sight-seers and those who loved the limelight to dash in and out, often bringing visitors who had nothing whatever to do with ambulance work, but came out of mere curiosity. Frequently even those who might have helped, instead of setting to work and lending a hand in times of emergency, merely made the tour of the trenches, thereby disturbing everyone and making themselves a nuisance. This could not be permitted any more. The decree went forth, and henceforward Gipsy and her companion were singled out and set apart from all other women in the sight of the army, of which they became a part, and to them alone was accorded this great privilege of remaining in the place of honour and danger. They were asked to establish their poste again wherever they thought advisable, and meantime were granted ten days' leave to go over to England to arrange their affairs, and incidentally to collect funds, which were sorely needed. 

They might well have used this congé for complete rest, but in some ways it was harder than anything they had done yet. Gipsy soon discovered that if she herself could tell the people in England about the work being done, and of the actual state of the case, there was none so mean of soul as to grudge his pence. But the telling was a great strain; to rush about and lecture and allow interviews, which she loathed, tried her sorely. 

It was at this time that she focussed into words the idea which had seemed to her more worth while doing than anything else in life. 

"The great object of my work, the theory on which I have been acting and which my experience has proved to be sound," she says, "is the treatment of the wounded for shock before anything else. We have saved many a man who has been brought into my station saying, 'I don't care what you do to my wound; get me warm.' The effects of shock are worse in many cases than the wounds. It is not difficult to imagine it perhaps. When one is under fire, when a shell is coming, one feels like shrivelling up. Even if one is not hit, the effect upon the nervous system is very trying. If a man is hit in such circumstances the effects are much worse. For a time, some are like mad people. I have known a man wounded, and under ordinary conditions unable to trot, run round and round my dressing-table unable to stop. Another poor fellow, brought in wounded in the lung, was stone grey with cold, unconscious, and apparently lifeless. He was given up as hopeless, and it was said that if an attempt were made to get him back to the hospital he would certainly die on the road. I got him in front of the fire, wrapped him in hot blankets, applied hot-water bottles, rubbed his extremities, and got him warm. After two hours' work he roused up and asked for a drink. That man is now convalescent in a hospital in England, and is expecting to go back to the front. That is one case out of many.” 

"The object of my dressing-station, situated as near as I can possibly get it to the trenches, is to provide a place of rest for the wounded. They are made comfortable and warm, and given some hours' rest, before being joggled over the rough Belgian roads to the hospitals where their hurts can be attended to. If the wounded soldiers can rest out of the trenches before being treated they recover quicker. In the ordinary way, the wounded remain in the trenches until night, when the military ambulances can be brought up for them. Our work is to get them out of the trenches as soon after they are hit as possible." 

 No wonder all those who heard her story were melted by it, and money came in rapidly—at any rate, rapidly enough for the little they needed. Lord Norreys gave an ambulance car, a 16-20 h.p. Wolseley, which had been presented to the St. John Ambulance Association by Sutton Coldfield and district. This did the most wonderful work described later. With two hundred pounds in hand, the Two returned to Pervyse full of cheer. They were proud and pleased to find themselves for the first time beyond the hand-to- mouth state they had always hitherto existed in, and knowing how far they could make the money go, they felt quite rich and above the possibility of want for some time to come. 

They were once more in Belgium before the end of March, and began to look about for a lodging. Naturally they returned to Pervyse, which had so strong a hold on their affections. Just outside the village, farther out than the poor ruined genie house, was a little place called the Villa Espagnole, which it seemed to them might be made to do. It was in a filthy state, but that was easily remedied. Mairi started at once to scrub it with that thoroughness characteristic of her, while Gipsy went into La Panne to fetch out the possessions they had left there. But all the time Mairi scrubbed she felt uncomfortable; there was something lonesome and decayed about that villa, an awful smell of the dead, and more than once she got up and went outside to draw in a long breath of the clean air before getting on with her natural vigour. Directly Gipsy returned with the pots and pans she had to go out again to retrieve a wounded man, and she was away a long time. Dusk began to gather, and with it there crept up like a thickening fog this eerie feeling that could no longer be ignored. Least imaginative of persons, there is yet in Mairi that vein of "second sight" so often found in her countrymen, and an audible voice whispered softly to her in warning: 

"Take care; leave this place; you mustn't stay here." 

So strong did the obsession become that she left off trying to do anything and went outside, preferring to wait in the road, though it was now pitch dark, until Gipsy came back. 

The villa was very small. It consisted only of two downstairs rooms and one upstairs. There were two or three steps down to the road, and these opened directly from the principal room. This room itself communicated with the kitchen at the back by another two steps, and from it also a stairway led up to the room above. Beneath this stairway was a third door, bolted and barred, which gave access to some cellar or underground place. 

Mairi stood at the foot of the front steps in the road until she heard the welcome sound of the returning car. The wounded man was bound up and sent back to La Panne in charge of the chauffeur, who presently returned. 

The fire burnt cheerfully enough that evening as they ate their simple supper of bread and butter, but though Mairi naturally said nothing about her odd feelings, Gipsy got up once or twice and moved uneasily round like a dog or a cat in a new house, and even while she was sitting her eyes roved about disquietingly. 

They had thrown down plenty of straw in one corner and laid their two sleeping-bags upon it, and in another corner there was straw for the new chauffeur, Augustus, who had superseded Tom, required for duty elsewhere. They called him Augustus for the all-sufficient reason that he "looked like it." 

The fire was still well alight when they tucked up in their sleeping- bags for the night, but it did not seem to produce any warmth. There was a chill as of death in the air, and the "something" kept on its almost audible whisper, "Go away, go away." At last even matter-of- fact Mairi could bear it no longer, and creeping nearer to her friend she felt for her hand. 

"What is it?" asked Gipsy, startled. 

"Gipsy, there is something dead in here; but— yet—it's—not—dead- -----" 

Gipsy sat upright suddenly. "I haven't dared to tell you," she said. "But ever since I have been in this house something has been saying quite distinctly in my ear, 'Go,' and it makes me feel cold all over. But, Mairi, it isn't real cold; it's a queer kind of cold that never gets warm—any—more-----" 

They had spoken in whispers, but suddenly the chauffeur sat up and said in French, "II y a quelque chose de je ne sais quoi-----" 

They were not apt to suffer from nerves, those three; they had seen death too often and in too many horrid forms to be scared by it, but now they knew it was something beyond death that had awed them, something which was vague and terrible, and to all three it seemed as if this "thing" was behind that rusty barred door. It was imprisoned, yet menacing, and was trying intangibly to thrust them away. 

They did not sleep at all for the remainder of the night, and were glad when the morning dawned. Without consulting each other, they had simultaneously made up their minds that this house was impossible, and as soon as they could they went to Headquarters and stated that it was unsatisfactory, without giving reasons, and asked for suggestions as to settling elsewhere. 

Afterwards there came rumours of the strange influence of that house on others besides themselves. A priest had been living there, and was unable to move because his military duties tied him to the place, and there was no habitable corner elsewhere in it. From the first he had felt uncomfortable, but had struggled against the nameless horror that crept into his veins, and in the end he had gone mad with it! 

The Cellar House of Pervyse - Chapter 12 - Waiting for Attack

 'The Cellar-House of Pervyse'

A Tale of Uncommon Things from The Journals and Letters of the Baroness t'Serclaes and Mairi Chisholm

A Story of Two British Volunteer Nurses on the Yser Front

Chapter XII - Waiting for Attack

After having seen death around in so many guises, it seems natural for Mairi Chisholm to open her New Year's diary with the terse and unaffected words: "What will 1915 bring to us? Death, I suppose, to many—I wonder which ones!" Fortunately they were both spared; not a scratch did they get, though they worked the whole year through in the thick of the danger. 

For women, especially women unaccustomed to continuous physical exertion, the difficulty is to keep on doing the same thing, as many heads of canteens have found. A woman in her own home may do a little housework, but there is nothing to prevent her knocking off and resting when she feels it too much; to "keep on keeping on," as Mr. J. C. Snaith has it, is the test. There are hundreds of women willing to do a day a week in canteens, handing out food to munition workers or soldiers, but even the one continuous day, always the same day, seems more than many are able to manage, and it is the units among the tens who hold on regularly. But to go on as the Two did, day in, day out, while months ran into years, with every nerve on the alert, under a strain both physical and mental, is a wonderful feat. 

The New Year made them both very busy, as the fighting continued active, and the urgency of the work compelled Gipsy to break off her journal, which does not begin again until September; but sturdy Mairi continued hers, and Gipsy's letters home fill the gap. 

In the very beginning of the year, she took over a party of six soldiers to England; they were going to convalesce in a little house which had been given by friends. That journey was a nightmare. The men were very ill—they were not merely slight cases; three of them were on stretchers. The crossing was rough as it could be; all the half-dozen were sea-sick, and, as some of the poor fellows were stomach cases, and ought never to have had this added strain, their cone on became pitiable. Each separate one needed a nurse to himself, and in the close quarters, with the violent motion of the ship, Gipsy had to do everything for them all, with only the help of anyone who might happen to be there. The responsibility for those poor racked bodies was hers. When they drew near Dover, it was so rough no pilot would come out, and they tossed about three weary hours outside, until by desperate signalling as to the condition of the wounded on board a pilot was obtained. They got into Dover at nine at night instead of five o'clock, as expected, and the additional hours of tossing about seemed spun out into eternity for each suffering man. The last train up to town had gone, and as arrangements had been made on the supposition that they would be in London that night, there was no accommodation ready at the town. Mr. G-----, one of the ambulance corps, had fortunately come to meet the boat, and had got some ambulances. From the pier Gipsy telephoned to the military hospital to ask that her patients might be taken in, but there was no room. Then she tried the King's Head Hotel, and was able to get them in there. Naturally they were all frightfully ill with pain and exhaustion, and all night long she had to run from one to the other, helped by an R.A.M.C. officer who fortunately happened to be staying there. She must have been feeling very bad herself, but she never mentions this in her account of the incident; all she says is, "They were splendid." 

This was on a Saturday. The men were taken up by train to London next day and across to Euston, and here, owing to the scarcity of Sunday trains, it was impossible to avoid a delay of five hours. Out of the six sufferers, four were really in a very precarious state and one in particular very nearly died. It was an immense relief when at last they reached their goal and were handed over to the willing helpers waiting for them. But the experience was enough to turn anyone's hair grey, and it is easily understood that Gipsy found it v actually "restful" to get back to Pervyse. She was knocked up by the experience, and looked forward to a decent night's rest, but instead of that the guns split the air all night long. 

The floods at this time were terrible; it looked almost as if Pervyse itself might be inundated. The ground was saturated, and the water rose a foot high in the cellar, so that it could not be used at all. In the génie house they were dry underfoot, but in spite of all they could do to stop it the rain dripped through the cracked and battered roof into the living-room. The Two lived in oil-skins and rubber boots as they paddled to and fro on necessary errands. The men in the trenches were knee-deep in water, and agonizing cases of cramp, rheumatism, and neuritis, came in daily. To add to all these joys, the Two discovered a new form of danger which had so far escaped their notice; this was the risk from their own shrapnel when the empty cases fell in the village. "We were watching some aeroplanes when we heard a most quaint sound—an indistinct low whistle, like a shell, and yet different from any kind of shell we had met. We heard it for some time, and were puzzled by it, but came to the conclusion it certainly was getting nearer, and quite suddenly, with one impulse, we both fled like rabbits into our hole, and an empty shrapnel case pitched on the side of the road exactly where we had been. It was from our own shrapnel. We had never thought of that." A brief record of some of the cases dealt with from day to day is given by Mairi. A sergeant was brought in on a stretcher, but he was already dead, half his head having been blown off. Another man had gone out of his mind with the noise and horror; another had his hand badly scalded; several had severe internal pains brought on by inflammation in the cold, and one morning at 3.30 they were woke up to tend a man in supreme agony who had had the bad luck to blow off his own hand with his rifle. He had somehow managed to shoot off his right thumb, and the same bullet had gone on and penetrated his left arm. How he had done it remained for ever a conundrum—there seemed to be no sort of attitude that even a contortionist could take to manufacture that particular damage. 

All this time the Two had paid for their own food, and had never asked a penny from the Belgians. They lived precariously on whatever they happened to get. "We had a ham to boil, and I made the breadcrumbs," said Mairi, showing that they did not neglect any amenities within their reach. Another day "An officer shot eight sparrows, which he gave us, and I started in and plucked the little jossers. Quite a job!" 

The occasional runs into Furnes to fetch stores were a pleasant break in lives which, though full of incident, tended to become monotonous. In Pervyse they had to spend most of their days in "two dingy, smelly, little postes," the only alternative being that depressing street with its brooding death. The rattling drive into the town was over roads pock-marked with shell-holes, varied by an occasional bump when the car ran off the pave and landed in the mud. On these occasions they had to get out and heave her back; once they had even to use a jack, and, as shells were flying about and they were well within the radius, it required some nerve. When they arrived in Furnes, "we had a mad rush round the shops and grabbed all the stores we could find; it all seemed so new and interesting after a desolate village. Then a mad rush back again over the same old bumpy, holey road, and home to our tumbled- down cottage. Yet you have no idea what a great treat it all seems to us." 

The first time they did this in January, though they were only away two hours, they found that it was just that scrap of time in which the Queen of the Belgians had chosen to pay them a visit. They could have wept with disappointment at having missed her. "We were as sick as death," says Mairi in her expressive slang, "and it will take us some time to get over it." 

There were other visitors of much less consequence who had found them at home, and that she, the heroine Queen who had been the inspiration of Belgium in these its darkest days, should have missed them caused them acute chagrin. The Mayor of Paris was among their visitors one day, and Gipsy remarks ironically: "There never is a wounded man here when these great folks arrive. I think I shall have to get a tame blessé and keep him permanently bandaged on a stretcher on the floor, and when I see them coming get busy and look interesting with hot chocolate and bandages." 

They had grown to be quite expert in the matter of judging the different kinds of shells, and even their size, from the noise they made, and by now they were accustomed to the crash of the naval guns from the coast, which pitched huge shells right over Pervyse. One day, when the bombardment was very bad, a priest and some soldiers ran into the genie house to recover their breath and shelter before going on. The shells from the German lines seemed to be dropping all round that particular spot. "They must be passing over the cellar-house, anyhow," Gipsy remarked; "they can't be in two places at once." 

But they could, and were, for some of them at any rate fell close by one poste, and some near the other, exactly as if those two houses had been the only objectives. The cellar-house itself was not hit, but it escaped by a miracle, for, judging from the destruction around, at least a hundred shells must have pitched close by it, and the first line of trenches just behind was churned up into mud. Luckily there did not happen to be any soldiers there on that particular day, and the damage done was trifling. The total bag was the priest slightly, and one soldier badly, wounded, for all that expenditure of shell- power. But it was obvious that the cellar-house was untenable, and sadly they decided to give it up altogether. The shelling now came very close to it constantly, and what with the wet and the danger, it seemed foolish to try to hold on to it, especially now that they had got the other poste where the necessary work could be carried on. 

One morning they agreed to go together to the cellar-house to bring up the few things that remained there. At the moment there was, as Mairi phrases it, "nothing doing," and they walked along light- heartedly. Close by the cellar-house half a dozen of the soldiers' horses were stabled in a dilapidated outhouse, and Gipsy, who was a good horsewoman and passionately fond of horses, went in to pet them. She and Mairi stood there a minute or two stroking the soft noses of their friends and feeding them with bits, and then went on. It did not take ten minutes to pick up what they wanted in the cellar, and they had just started homewards when "out of the blue" there came a most appalling explosion and then the smashing and falling of bricks. The noise was quite different from that of a shell bursting on the roadway, and they knew that something had happened. Wheeling round, they saw clouds of mortar and smoke and dust rolling about, and found that the room above the cellar was smashed to pieces, the last remnants had gone. Worse still, the stable had suffered too, and regardless of the fact that usually three shells pitch in quick succession about the same place, they ran back to see what had occurred. The cellar-house had only caught a little of the explosion, but it was obvious a large shell must have plumped right into the stable, for three of the horses lay dead, and the other three, badly hurt, struggled feebly. It was an agonizing sight, like a slaughter-house, with the crazy walls and damp straw splashed red with blood. It was, perhaps, more like "War," as seen in the imagination, than anything they had yet come across. One of the soldiers came to take the three surviving horses to L'Espérance, and led them up the village. When Gipsy saw the miserable procession, she realized at once that the poor animals were too severely injured to walk all that way, so she stopped them at the poste and had them put in the garage shed. 

All that day she spent in alternately trying to do what she could and "annoying every officer I saw, from a General to a Lieutenant," to send a vet. At length, at nine that evening, a vet came. He shot two of the remaining horses, saying their case was hopeless, while the Two stood beside him holding the lantern, with the wind and rain moaning round, and the only survivor looking on with patient eyes, as if he understood all about it. But alas, he had to go too! The vet took immense pains, and dug bits of shell out of him all over, but his case was hopeless, and the next day he shared the fate of his fellows. Both girls felt this deeply. Animals had a tremendous hold on their hearts, and it seemed a pitiable filiale to the little cellar- house, now finally abandoned. 

From henceforth a new chapter of the story was opened, and they lived in the génie house altogether and tended the men there. A notice was put up outside the cellar-house directing all who needed aid to come on farther. The genie was in reality not so safe as the cellar-house had been, because it was entirely above ground, but it was a little further from the guns, and one terror that had haunted both of the friends, though they had never confessed it in words, was laid to rest. At least, whatever happened, they would be always together. It had been secret agony to think that, with the coming and going from one poste to the other, one might be caught and smashed while the other was not there. More than ever they determined to cling to each other, always and everywhere, so that in death they should not be divided. 

In the midst of all this a painter came to paint their portraits. And in the words of the irrepressible Mairi, "We had to stand at fearful angles for unknown times." Tension was still growing, in spite of these frivolous incidents. Before the end of the month Furnes, having been heavily bombarded, was evacuated by the British hospital, which had so far "stuck it out," and though their connection with the hospital, or indeed any practical association with the ambulance corps, had long ceased, this cutting of the thread made them feel more than ever that they stood alone in their little shell- swept village. 

Custom breeds contempt, and so many times had they heard that the Germans might make a big attack and break through that they had grown to smile inquiringly at such rumours and pass on, forgetting all about it in five minutes. But now the rumour grew and gathered force, and was backed up by authorities there was no gainsaying; yet, as no orders had come through from headquarters about evacuating their post, they stayed where they were. On the evening of January 25 some of the officers whom they had not seen for a little while came in, and seemed surprised to find them still there. They obviously did not want to be alarming, and yet their grave looks and general air of tension indicated that something unusual was expected. The girls questioned them, and made them admit that they had every reason to expect a terrific onslaught before the morning. However, it was too late now to take any steps toward evacuation, even had they wished to; there was nothing for it but to see it out. It was the waiting in inaction that was most trying. Again and again both of them say in their journals, "I don't mind the shells while I am busy with the wounded; I forget all about them." But to sit and wait for this unknown terror, that was indeed a strain on nerve power. For the time all was quiet—-an uncanny stillness that was saturated with suspense! 

The officers continued to come in and out, going away to see to this or that item of supply, and returning again graver than before. 

Man after man got up and went out to hold mysterious whispered colloquies in the passage with despatch-riders; the atmosphere grew more tense with portent. Visions of the grey-clad Germans, lust-mad, bestial, pouring in like a herd of wild beasts, haunted the women. 

The room in which they sat has been described by Mary Rinehart, an American writer, who visited them here. "What a strange room it was, furnished with odds and ends from the shattered houses about! A bed in the corner, a mattress-bed on the floor, a piano in front of the shell-holed windows—a piano so badly cracked by shrapnel that panels of the woodwork were missing and keys gone—two or three odd chairs, and what had once been a book- case, and in the centre a pine table laid for a meal. Every opening of the door into the corridor brought a gale of wind through the ruined house—hardly a foot of the plaster interior of that room was whole. The ceiling was riddled, so were the walls; in the centre of the former was a great bulge.” 

One of the other ladies happened by an unlucky incident to be at the poste that night; it was the American, whose forte was piano- playing. Presently she sat down and began to play on the hacked and battered piano, that had once been used only for hymn-tunes strummed out on Sunday evenings by a respectable bourgeois family. The melody that was its soul now found utterance and streamed out from her finger-tips, and floating away through the chinks in the rough improvised shutters, carried the souls of her hearers up into the world of great spaces lit by stars. Even the men who brought those fateful messages paused for a moment at the shot-battered entrance outside as the music drifted round them. 

On and on she played, until one o'clock came, and still no guns were heard. One by one the officers slipped away, all except one who was on picket duty. As Mrs. G----- paused, letting the notes die away, a far-distant sound of mitrailleuses came over from the trenches. All the party were now very white, and it was long since anyone had uttered a word. 

Soon after a quick step was heard on the road, and there was a little stir of expectancy while Corporal Delmotte of the Mitrailleurs came in. They had not seen him for a day or two, as he had been on leave. He saluted the Captain, explaining that all the reserve mitrailleuse men on leave had been called back and centred in Pervyse, as a big attack was expected at earliest dawn. Even now, he suggested, there was time for the ladies to go back to Furnes. His proposal was no sooner understood than dismissed: they had had no orders— unanswerable reply. But to back it up, woman-like, they added: what better would they be if they did go? Supposing that accursed host burst through, would they be any better in deserted Furnes than here? 

"So we passed this strange, strange night." But the strangest incident of all was to come. 

Mrs. G----- had flung herself face downward on one of the beds and fallen asleep. Gipsy and Mairi linked arms and stole quietly to the door, with the Captain and corporal behind. They felt the street as vibrant as an electric wire, though all the sounds were muffled and any orders were in whispers. They had stood there only two minutes, when behind them on the side remote from the German lines they saw an electric torch flash out— once, twice, dot, dash, dot, stop! It was away out in the fields, and even though they could not read the message, there could be no doubt of its purport: it was telling the Germans what reinforcements were being brought up. A bright blue light from the German side sprang out in reply. 

The man beside them gave a deep hiss in his throat, "S-s-sacré!" There was a hurried whisper, then a quick scuffle and rush as the corporal with a detachment of three swept past to nail the traitor in his lair. They did not get him, needless to say— traitors are far too wily to remain where bayonets may pin them to the door-post. 

By five o'clock the two friends had fallen peacefully asleep, utterly unable to keep their eyes open any longer, and when they reopened them in broad daylight everything was as usual, and the Germans had not materialized, but all day long came in an avalanche of wounded, which showed what the cost of holding them up had been! 

The Cellar House of Pervyse - Chapter 11 - The End of 1914

'The Cellar-House of Pervyse'

A Tale of Uncommon Things from The Journals and Letters of the Baroness t'Serclaes and Mairi Chisholm

A Story of Two British Volunteer Nurses on the Yser Front

Chapter XI - The End of 1914

The piano in the new house proved better than the old one. There was also room for a double bed, a food cupboard, and other luxuries; after the cellar it seemed Paradise. At nights, wooden shutters had to be put up to hide the light, as the Two were now above ground. The glass in the windows had long been smashed. They had no idea yet of abandoning the cellar-house; they intended to keep that as a poste, for it was nearer to the trenches, but they themselves lived in the genie house. This, of course, entailed continual passing to and fro over the quarter of a mile or so that separated the two, and in the weeks that followed they grew used to ruined Pervyse in all its aspects. By the bright moonlight, with the black shadows lying in the corners, it suggested in a ghastly way a horribly decayed mouth with missing and broken teeth. By day it was very like one of the pit villages of the North, left to fall to pieces when the coal has run out, and abandoned by the whole population in a body; only in Pervyse there were more signs of violence than in such a melancholy village. Some of the houses were unrecognizable—just a heap of stones—and others had had a slice taken cleanly off the front, so that the whole interior lay revealed in naked intimacy. In some of these the furniture was still intact, and in others smashed and riddled with holes. In many cases, where it had been spared by the shells, it had been wantonly split up for firewood by the troops and good polished mahogany and walnut lay in splinters. It was the furniture that made the place so pitiful. In the colliery villages the inhabitants take their household goods with them when they remove, and there is no evidence of occupation cut suddenly short and left like an unhealed wound. To peep into one of the Pervyse houses, to see the pictures hanging all askew, the carpets or rugs mouldy and stained, the china ornaments in atoms, the easy-chairs rotted and fallen, conveyed an awful sense of desolation. In one room, where the upper floor had been cut in two, a baby's cot balanced precariously by one of the rockers, and the coverlets were hanging down. Where was the baby occupant? 

One day, as Gipsy passed along, she stopped, and started at hearing a sound of digging at the back of one of these houses. There was no shelling at the moment, and in the unusual stillness such a sound needed explanation. She passed round among the ruins, and came upon a very old woman, tall but bowed, with eyes like red pits, so inflamed were they with weeping. She was groping in the fallen débris, and had evidently found what she sought, for she stood up trying to hide beneath her shawl a cheap painted timepiece with a penthouse wooden roof and gaudy flowers smeared on the wood. 

By one of those strange chinks in the general danger the clock-face had slipped through the bombardments and was unbroken. As the old woman gazed at it her weather-hardened face looked quite beautiful; she smiled at Gipsy, and without a word started to walk back again to Furnes, her sabots clanking on the cobbles. She had come out with one object, and had attained it. That clock had probably been a wedding gift, and was associated with the only days of pride and joy she had ever known. It was at least likely that she had lived out her span of life entirely in Pervyse, and never been elsewhere until torn up by the roots and flung out. For her there was nothing more to do but fade away; she could never take root again. Gipsy had nodded and smiled and tried to speak to her, but she found it impossible to make her understand, and as she stood there watching the bent figure hobble away, a sense of pity welled up in her so strongly that the tears came to her eyes. She shook them impatiently away. What use to drivel? There was work to be done. No wonder she writes: "I don't think I shall ever forget my life at Pervyse; it was all so strange at times, so pathetic, and yet there were moments when we giggled like children." 

Continually terrible cases called for attention. Some of these were of men who had been sent out as scouts toward the German lines, and who had been seen and shot at. One night Alexandre, who slept in the kitchen of the génie house, came in saying that there was a wounded man somewhere down the road. Taking a lantern, Gipsy started out to find him; as usual, it was wet and very cold. She groped along, calling softly now and again, bracing herself for the sentry's challenge any moment. It came sharp and clear, "Halte là!" but when she explained the man knew her and let her go on. Presently a faint groan drew her in the right direction. Wheeling toward it, she nearly went headlong into a huge shell-pit; then she discovered that the groans came from there. The man was at the bottom, lying in a foot of black water. She slipped and slithered down beside him, and found the poor fellow had an awful cut right across the head which had penetrated the skull. It was amazing that he lived, and still more so that he had managed to struggle so far as this in the direction of the poste before he fell into the pit. She bandaged him up first, and then, calling some passing soldiers for assistance, carried him into safety, and eventually he recovered sufficiently to go into Furnes. 

Both women were much touched by the gratitude of the soldiers; however badly hurt, so long as they retained consciousness at all, they were never too far gone to try to express their thanks for what was done for them. And some of them were grievously hurt. One was shot in both shoulders by mitrailleuse bullets, and another had a bullet through the lung. A sergeant came in with a badly fractured leg and arm, and bullet wounds in his feet —"a terrible case, and just one of the pluckiest men I have ever seen. He smiled all the time, and was so brave and cheery—a fine soldier with a fine character." He died the next day. 

The bravery of the men was indeed almost beyond belief. One day one of the soldiers appeared with a fearful wound. His right hand had been shot to bits while he was wearing a woollen glove. "I have never had such a disagreeable job as taking off that glove," Gipsy writes. "I could see every finger was blown to pieces, and the bits of glove mixed up everywhere, and the hand smashed; I expected every moment to pull off a finger with the glove. I cut as much as I could away, but it was all such a mess and muddle that I was afraid the scissors might do more harm than good." It must indeed have been a loathsome task, enough to try the nerves of the strongest. 

One day, when some of the members of the corps came out in a car, seeing how white and worn Gipsy looked, one of them offered to stay for a night and let her have a rest, which she gladly accepted; but she had hardly made her preparations to go into the town, and had not got clear of the village, before a quite extraordinary number of wounded came in, and the lady sent after her begging her to come back, as it needed great experience to cope with such an influx. 

A cheery crowd of naval officers turned up unexpectedly in a car from Dunkirk to see for themselves what the Two were doing. Among them was Mairi's friend the "Spaniard," as she, with her readiness at nicknames, had christened him. They were amazed at the sight of the village, and freely expressed their opinion that no ladies should be allowed to live there. They had seen many bad places since this war began, but this—you know—why, it was absurd, and they might be killed any time too! What were the authorities doing to allow it? Etc., etc., lot of old muddlers. 

"The whole British Army objects to our being here," said Mairi; "but it can't do anything." 

"Well, if I were one of the red-hats, I'd soon have you out of it! Why, you'd be safer on board. You might get killed—killed, you know, any time." 

"Yes, we know all about that." 

"But then it's ridiculous," the "Spaniard" protested feebly. "Really, Mairi, you'd much better marry me." 

"So that you'd have power to keep me away, you think? Well, of course, if you are only proposing it on humanitarian grounds, I can tell you it wouldn't answer, because if ever I did such a mad thing, I'd come here just the same." 

"You're doing a much madder one now," he said promptly. 

"It's quite safe." 

"Oh, rot! I say, how did the place get like this if there hasn't been shelling, and big shelling too?" 

"Perhaps the Germans did it when they were here." 

"Do you mean to tell me that shells don't drop in here now and again?" 

"Perhaps they do. What are they like? Describe one." 

He looked at her, but she met him with the perfectly candid expression of a simple desire for information. 

"Well, I'm-----" he began, and then there was a long hiss and a scream and a crash, so near that they both instinctively leaped for the shelter of the genie house. 

"That's punctured a hole in your terminological inexactitude," he said reproachfully. But before he finished speaking another came, and another. They were in for a bad bout. They continued to scream and crash, and presently the Belgian batteries near took up the antiphon and there was a real hullabaloo. This upset the naval men altogether. They absolutely buzzed in their anxiety. 

"Do you mean to say you get this often? It's shameful! Someone ought to make you come away." 

"Write to The Times about it," suggested Gipsy pleasantly. "And, meantime, don't you think we might have luncheon?" 

"Luncheon? Oh, we brought a few things for you. We knew you couldn't buy much up here." 

They hastened out, and unpacked from the car a royal supply, which, with the invariable consideration of men of the sea, they had carried up with them. They lunched royally off excellent ham, and tinned fruit, and other luxuries, but all the while the officers grumbled: they seemed to feel a personal enmity against the military who permitted such things. And finally they insisted on leaving behind one of the two cars in which they had come. "Then you can make tracks, if ever the time comes when you must," one of them said. This certainly was considerate, because frequently the car they used was away, taking wounded to Furnes, and in case of a sudden evacuation the Two would have been stranded. 

"Dear fellows," said Gipsy, watching them bump off down the road in the other car. 

"Very young," said Mairi, with an old-world air—"such boys!" As for her familiarity with shells, which Mairi had so innocently repudiated, this was the kind of thing that constantly happened: she was walking between the génie and the cellar-house, when she heard the shrill warning whistle, and sprang to one side, though really the broken ruins afforded no protection; then, as she went on, a small shell burst about fifty yards on the right. She concluded it was silly as well as useless to mind, so very deliberately strolled on down the middle of the street with her hands in the pockets of her tunic. Just as she reached the poste, another burst in front, sending the mud spurting up in all directions. 

Gipsy had been watching her. 

"Why on earth didn't you run?" she inquired rather breathlessly, for it is much worse to watch another person in danger than to be in it yourself. 

"It's not dignified when you are in khaki," answered Mairi gravely. 

In her journal she constantly records some such remark as this: "Very little doing, except a few shrapnel coming in." 

Yet the time came when they had to take notice. They were all at the cellar-house, and had just decided it was too much trouble to go back down the village for lunch. So Mairi cut up some potatoes and put them on to fry, saying that would stave off the pangs of hunger till tea-time, and then, in an instant, with no sort of warning, a shell really did land almost on the top of the house. It struck it somewhere, though, mercifully for them, not square, and for the moment it seemed as if the whole building was coming bodily to the ground. Each, catching her breath, thought instantaneously, "Is this really the end?" 

Bricks and mortar flew, but when the noise subsided they found they were still alive and quite unhurt, though the explosion had carried away a corner of the house; one of the men in the cellar opposite had been wounded by a splinter which flew in, and the Daimler car, which stood in a ruined outhouse, had been peppered. They counted twenty-eight holes in the bonnet, besides other damage. 

When they had attended to the wounded man, they went on to the génie house, naturally feeling a little shaken, in spite of their nerve, and there they found the two doctors from the British Field Hospital to which the ambulance had been attached. These men had heard the explosion and seen part of the cellar-house collapse, and were dreadfully upset at the idea of women being in such peril. They couldn't get used to it. One of the soldier servants standing by looked at them open-mouthed, and exclaimed: 

"Vous n'avez pas peur?" 

What could they reply but, "Pas du tout," though limbs were still trembling and hearts palpitating? He was a cheery soul, and encouraged them by remarking complacently, "Les Boches bombardera encore cette maison-ci." 

Reinforcements were being hurried up. The fighting at Nieuport was furious, and the whole line was being attacked with unusual vigour; all around there was stir and menace. What had preceded seemed almost peaceful in comparison; anything might happen these days. Coming out of the génie house in the afternoon Gipsy passed a couple of the great patient mitrailleuse dogs who had been struck by a splinter of shell; their shaggy paws were being bound up by the gunners. She went over to help, regardless of the risk and exposure, and had them brought into the kitchen, and one of them licked her hand with his rough tongue, for all the world as if he were trying to express gratitude like his masters. 

Seeing that the bombardment continued to be pretty furious for days, it was natural that the naval men should turn up again to see how the Two were getting on; they seemed to think it a sort of personal slur that they should be under fire while they themselves were not. The "Spaniard" got no chance that night, for Mairi was surrounded. Her type appealed peculiarly to the men of the sea; they saw in her all that they adored in the vision of a "fresh British girl," and her cheery aloofness and lack of susceptibility heightened the flame. "You'll have to marry some time," one of them told her, with a touch of maliciousness in his tone. 

"No use meeting evils half-way," she retorted gaily. 

In spite of their anxiety, the officers were full of hope and expectancy; everywhere it was said that the offensive would soon be begun, and that the Germans would be driven back. The Taubes certainly had an idea also that something was afoot, for their visits were persistent, and hardly a day passed that one or more did not soar above, to be tackled by the French airmen. One day the Two watched with intense eagerness a fight between aviators in which neither eventually got the better of the other, though the manœuvres and dodges were splendid to watch. The Frenchman at last daringly dropped headlong on to his antagonist, endeavouring to smash one of his wings, missed by inches, as it appeared to the rapt onlookers, and fell too far to recover himself before his adversary flew away. 

Another time, seeing a Taube overhead, they ran out to look at it, and heard the firing of a mitrailleuse somewhere near. They could not make out where the firing came from. It couldn't be from the Germans, who were too far off; it couldn't be from their own men, because the bullets were beginning to splash around. Nearer came the deadly splashes until they realized they must beat a quick retreat into shelter of some kind, and it was only then they grasped the fact that the Taube man was leaning over his machine deliberately potting them with a quick-firing gun! 

At the very top of the village, near the railway line and the trenches, stood the church, with its high rectangular tower, which had for some time been used as an observation station by Captain de Wilde, and was now unsafe. It had parted company with the nave and leaned forward at an angle, and the military men decided it must come down. They sent a message to the poste inviting them to attend the ceremony, so they walked out along the stretch of melancholy street that they traversed so often in a day and were growing to hate. The first violent explosion under the church tower produced apparently no result at all. It was followed by another, but though the tower looked as if the push of a hand must send it over, it never stirred, and then there was a long interval, possibly five minutes, which seemed like fifteen to the spectators. "It's not going at all," said Mairi, as the third explosion rang out, but it was! Very slowly and with dignity the tower seemed to turn on its axis, revealing a gaping wound all down its side, and then it subsided almost gently. It was a melancholy sight, as if some living thing had received the coup de grâce. The huge clock-face, rescued from the débris, was sent down as a present to the poste; they found they couldn't take this rather unwieldy souvenir inside, so propped it up against the wall. 

It was a sad day when the 9th Regiment, which had been at Pervyse from the first, had orders to move elsewhere, saddest of all because their good friend Dr. Van der Ghinst had to go too. Pervyse was the most coveted position in the whole Belgian line by this time; every man in the army had heard the story of the wonderful ladies who were there to tend and sympathize. The incoming regiment proved itself quite as appreciative and grateful as the last, but one day the Two were amused to receive a note from the 9th, saying that if the poste wasn't happy at Pervyse with their successors, they had better come along and join them in their new quarters! 

It had been decided that Gipsy must be spared at Christmas to pay a brief visit home to see her little boy Kenneth, and in the meantime others must carry on the work as best they could. As she was the moving spirit and originator of the whole scheme, and she alone had made it feasible by her personality and capability, it was like losing the soul when she went. But Mairi by this time was a skilled assistant, and far beyond the average girl of her age in steadiness and sense. She was the first to see that her friend's highly strung nature was worn by the incessant noise and calls upon her sympathy, and by the burden of wearing responsibility, and must have relaxation. For though indomitable in spirit, Gipsy was built in a delicate mould. The way was made easier because Lady Dorothie Feilding agreed to come to live with Mairi in Pervyse while Gipsy was away. 

The farewells were touching, including letters of God-speed from the officers, loving good wishes and evidences of a wealth of devotion from the men which she warmly appreciated. 

She ran into Furnes in a car, and while there went to see Miss Macnaughtan, who was then working at her soup kitchen. The station was lit only by a dim swinging lamp, and through it there defiled a procession of weird figures that might be the vision of a nightmare or a page from Dante's "Inferno." Many of them came straight from the trenches wearing their torn and motley clothes, and they were bandaged so that their outlines were distorted or their faces were invisible, while many lacked limbs. The humped-up look of the stretcher cases added a depressing touch of its own. And there was a curious silence pervading the waiting train. Gipsy walked down beside it, saying a quiet word of encouragement here and there, and suddenly from among the disguised crowd one stepped out, and grasping her hand in his left, the only one available, poured out on her a stammering tale of recognition, reminding her she had tended him at Dixmude. Since then he had been back again to the front, and a second time been wounded. By the light of this it seemed more miraculous than ever that she, who had been under continual firing, should have escaped. Among the men was one German, white and terrified, expecting nothing less than torture or death; wild-eyed, he refused even a cigarette, lest it should be poisoned! 

The weather was bitterly cold; mud and rain all the way—a horrid crossing. 

What a contrast to be awakened on Christmas morning by the glad cries of her little son, who had discovered the joys of his full stocking! She could hardly realize where she was. The softness of the yielding bed, the white sheets, the perfect stillness and comfort and cleanliness of everything, seemed to sink into her very bones. How little people who took these things as a matter of course every day of their lives knew of the hell out there! 

Meantime, Mairi was helped by Lady Dorothie Feilding, who was fully seasoned to danger by many a ghastly experience. These two girls, for there were not very many years between them, carried on the work successfully. In one of her private letters home Gipsy says of Mairi: "She has never shirked a day or night; always cheerful and bright, and absolutely to be depended on." 

In spite of all her wisdom, she was youthful enough to feel the glamour of Christmas. "Only one Christmas card and a bunch of mistletoe," she remarks. 

She began her day by the good "tidy-up" which her soul loved, and after having washed up the dishes, she and her companion began to give out some socks which had been sent for the soldiers, when "Crash came a shell! Crash! Crash! Crash! Nothing but falling bricks and the whistle of arriving shells for half an hour. One hit the house opposite us, brought all the tiles down; two hit our house and came through the wall; shrapnel burst just at our door, hitting the soldiers sheltering in our passage. The clock-dial standing against the door was riddled with holes, and all the smoke and smell of powder blew in at the door! A nice Christmas present to send us!" 

She attended to the slightly wounded men, talked to the old priest who had turned up to beg a shirt for himself, and then, helped by the Lady Dorothie, hung up little flags to make the room gay for the Christmas dinner. Even the candle had a paper lantern round it. 

The dinner itself was a triumph. Ox-tail soup, cold fowl, fried potatoes, plum pudding, mince pies, sweets, chocolate biscuits, nuts, and even crackers! The guests at this feast were Dr. Munro, Captain Robert de Wilde, and another man, and one of them supplied champagne. 

A raging gale the next day blew down everything that hung tottering in Pervyse; the floods rose, streams of water came through the roof of the génie house where the shrapnel had burst it, and in the midst of all this Mairi received distinguished callers—the Colonel of the Chasseurs and General Melis, Chief of the Belgian Army Medical Service. The fame of the poste was growing! 

On the last day of 1914 Gipsy returned. 

The Cellar House of Pervyse - Chapter 10 - Varied Life in Pervyse

 'The Cellar-House of Pervyse'

A Tale of Uncommon Things from The Journals and Letters of the Baroness t'Serclaes and Mairi Chisholm

A Story of Two British Volunteer Nurses on the Yser Front

Chapter X - Varied Life in Pervyse

In any society in the world two such attractive women would excite a good deal of admiration, but out here, where the raw edge of life was so apparent and recreation of any sort was so scarce, they shone brilliantly. Gipsy is by nature very outspoken, and in her dealings with headquarters she had made everyone she met understand very clearly just what she wanted and how it was to be done, and done it generally was. Her excessive frankness did not always make for friendship, and some people were even offended by her outspokenness. She was so quick and efficient herself that she had not much of that patience which "suffers fools gladly," though she could be patience itself with suffering. Like all natures which have a touch, or more than a touch, of genius in them, she was very original, up and down, and full of facets, showing first one side and then another, until some people thought they would never be able to understand her. Her stern determination to get through against opposition, her rapier strokes at those who stood in the way, showed an entirely different side of her character from that she displayed in off-times, when she was as much a child as the best Belgian among them. She threw off cares and concentrated herself entirely on the moment, and being an excellent mimic and very versatile, she could entertain anyone until they too forgot the sadness of the world around and were completely absorbed in her. 

The wonderful position in which she found herself had been entirely due to her own brilliant idea and quick grasp of what was necessary in the first instance, and her wonderful perseverance in the second; she never spared herself, and never rested till she had put through what she had set her mind on. But she hated detail; in developing the large outline of a scheme lay her strength—the detail must be carried out by others. Like many another of the same temperament, she "could not be bothered with small businesses," as the Indian fortune-teller said. She needed someone behind who would pick up what she dropped and see that she did not kill herself with excess of energy, and Mairi was exactly the person required. Mairi is eminently sane and steady. She cannot bear to sit down in an untidy room; she must know where to lay hands on anything that might be needed at a moment's notice; she is free from any trace of egotism, and has a large capacity for hero-worship, yet, withal, the shrewdness not to offer it at unworthy shrines. She is keen, competent, and trustworthy, and the two together at Pervyse made a perfect combination. 

The officers who surrounded them adored them, as was only natural, and were equally divided in their admiration of "Madame" and "Miss." 

Dr. Van der Ghinst, through whose frank cheeriness there ran a deeper undercurrent of observation and perception, was a constant friend and adviser. He very nearly fulfilled the highest ideal of manhood, one who could have bestowed the most patient attention on the wounded finger of someone else, even though he himself was bleeding to death from something much more serious. Since the Two had arrived in Pervyse, he had always been ready to listen and to enter into any plan for the welfare and comfort of the soldiers. He was an unfailing inspiration in the work. He was more fortunate than many, for his wife was safe, and even paid a visit to Pervyse. 

 Another of the Belgian officers of whom the Two had seen a good deal in Furnes was Captain Robert de Wilde, and when he turned up and became observation officer in Pervyse they were delighted. He was a perfect companion; "he never needed entertaining, but it always seemed it was just right for him to be there." What higher tribute could mortal man desire? 

He got into the way of dropping in most evenings, and then there was patience, or jig-saw puzzles, or, best of all, discussions on those deep questions which must lie below the surface in the hearts of all thoughtful men and women, and which are revealed at times when the bare facts of human existence lie starkly uncovered and all spurious sentiment falls away. These discussions meant much to Gipsy, who needed mental stimulation; they left both her and Mairi refreshed and brightened. "The nearer to the trenches, the gayer we are!" she exclaimed one day, and indeed, it is not only at Pervyse this truth is apparent. It is in the intervals of great crises that men let themselves go with light-heartedness; the heights are proportionate to the depths. Into no humdrum life has ever entered the utter abandonment of gaiety felt at times by those who have faced incredible danger and hardship. All happiness lies in contrast. 

One morning Gipsy was alone in the cellar for a marvel; she was reading a very dirty old magazine in a rare interval of leisure, for there was no call for her services. Someone knocked and came slowly down the steps. She saw in a moment, in spite of the dim light, that this was a new-comer, and not any of the officers she had yet met. He was very tall, so tall that he could not stand upright in the cellar, though he tried more than once; and he wore the smart uniform of the Guides, with crimson breeches, shining boots, green tunic, and peaked cap. Somehow she felt unaccountably embarrassed, and suddenly aware that she was in soiled clothes, sitting on a heap of straw in a most unbecoming way. What was it in the presence of this young man—he was only a Lieutenant—that should shed such a brilliant illumination on things? It was very remarkable, and she felt inclined to laugh, not knowing that with him had entered her Fate! 

Courteously saluting, he handed her a message from his Colonel, and turned to retrace his steps; and as he went he smiled, a smile that lit up his face and indeed the whole cellar. That smile seemed positively to linger and irradiate everything in a remarkable way! 

She felt unusually shy about mentioning the incident to Mairi, and it was not until they passed him one day on his way to the trenches, when he smiled again as he saluted, and Mairi asked casually, "Who's that?" that Gipsy owned having met him at all. 

"I don't know his name; he came with a message from the Colonel," she said, and felt, to her dismay, that she was growing very red as she spoke. 

It was less than a week after that the young Lieutenant once again appeared, this time bearing a box of marrons glacés as a present from the Colonel. A very welcome sight it was, for they both loved sweets; indeed, Gipsy once plaintively remarks in one of her home letters, "There is no more chocolate in the whole of Belgium, and none in Dunkirk, so I feel horribly lonely." 

Whether it was the marrons glacés or the smile she could not tell, but from that date she had a feeling of security and comfort so long as the young Lieutenant was in the trenches, though they saw very little of him. Pervyse seemed in a miraculous way to have become a safe and singularly happy place. And when, a couple of months later, he was suddenly transferred elsewhere, and went without a good-bye, though she saw him march off, it seemed as if the whole side of Pervyse had been laid bare, and the Germans might sweep in at any moment! 

One day a little later she found it impossible to get a necessary matter attended to. "I will go myself, and speak to Headquarters about it," she said; "it's the only way to get anything done." So she mounted her motor-cycle and went off, intending to let Headquarters see how very unpleasant she could make herself when they would not attend to her wishes. She had been feeling like that lately, as if she rather wanted to blow someone up. "Nerves," she called it to herself. 

Now as she ran out on the long, raised road she had to stop for a moment to attend to her cycle, and a car which was careering along from the opposite direction stopped just beside her while the occupants showed the sentries their papers. With a start which thrilled right through her, Gipsy saw that young Lieutenant de T'Serclaes, whose name she had now learned, was in the car, and that he was in a new uniform with the wings of an aviator on his sleeve. Again that happy smile seemed to strike through her, but no word passed between them. 

She mounted her cycle, and involuntarily looked back as the car spun on its way. It was a most curious coincidence, but the Lieutenant looked back too, at precisely the same moment! Somehow the feeling of annoyance and "nerves" fell from Gipsy; she suddenly felt herself again, and noticed how the larks were singing in the battered fields around. She changed her mind, after all, she wasn't going to bully Headquarters, she didn't feel she wanted to bully anyone to-day, and she rode back again to Pervyse in a state of serene bliss. 

Supplying soup and chocolate was not the whole reason for the settlement at Pervyse, or indeed the chief one—there were casualties to be attended to and much suffering saved. The word "casualties" by no means implies only actual wounds caused by weapons, but all those terrible hurts due to the exposure of men's bodies in circumstances of hardship and want. The intense cold and the lack of proper clothing had their share in bringing about misery and suffering, which in a minor degree, but still quite appreciably, affected the fighting power of Belgium. Bare toes met the frost through burst boots, and pneumonia and bronchitis supervened upon nights of shivering, soaked bodies. 

Gipsy wrote home urgently for clothes, clothes of any description; they were not particular. At that time the Belgian Army was not clad in khaki, and the soldiers were ready enough to snatch up any warm garment they could find; a motley crowd they looked sometimes, but they were units whose individualism would have stood a stronger test than a lack of uniformity in garments, which might have imperilled the cohesion of a German regiment. "I wish I could get hold of some society that has heaps and heaps of soldiers' clothing," Gipsy says. "Helmets, scarves, boots, and socks." 

From the first the poste was on an organized and systematic footing. There were to be no casual loiterers playing at stomach- ache to secure the comforts it offered; every man who came to ask for the ladies' assistance had to bring a letter from his commanding officer warranting that he was in need of it. 

Such varying needs, too! One had caught his hand on a nail, and the wound was festering; another was in agony with swollen, inflamed feet; a third was quite done up, nothing to show except that he was incapable of the smallest exertion. Him they fed and put into what they called the "blessé bed" in the corner, because it was devoted to the soldiers. They piled up hot-water bottles round him, and let him sleep the clock round, after which he arose a new man. 

Every morning one or other of the Two was up at six to see Alexandre did not neglect his duties in getting the fire alight. Mairi sometimes went foraging, and though she generally started alone, she was seldom allowed to return so. To the Belgian officers her roguish smile and the dimple in her sweet face were like sunlight, and she never lacked admirers, but through them all she passed unscathed. Her heart was not easy to reach. She was charming to all, with a frank independence that was like that of a delightful boy, and was new to most of them in a woman. She made use of them and listened to their chaff or their compliments with just the same manner, and the humour she shared in common with most of her countrymen, despite the gross libel kept alive by those who wouldn't know a Scot if they met one, was constantly in play. Her nerve was unassailable; she went to dig up potatoes and came back laden through a shower of shrapnel, which she apparently regarded much as she would a shower of rain. 

Here is an account of one such incident in her own words: "We found some potatoes up the road past the trenches. Then we went right to the other side of the village to get some cabbages. When we had cut them we wanted to wash them, and were shown a well. This done, we started back. Just behind the church we were warned it was impossible to get back, as the Germans were plumping shrapnel across the road. We decided to take our chance, so went on. Immediately the shrapnel came whistling along and burst just over us, so we ducked in under a house. Then we went on again and got in safely. The shrapnel continued all the morning." 

And with this life, so full and rich in the most life-giving element of all, the knowledge that one's presence is almost indispensable to the well-being and happiness of many, a great peace descended on the Two. Shell-fire, the desolation of that curved street with gaping wounds, and the lack of all amenities, had not power to affect them. They quickly grew to love their little cellar-house, and to feel that it was a true home. 

One morning they awoke to a perfect fusillade of rifle-fire, and for the first grave moment thought the Germans had really broken through and were charging up the village street. They climbed up out of their shelter and gazed down the street, for, as Gipsy said, "Curiosity beat fear." They saw no Germans, so they scampered along in the direction of the trenches, determined at all costs to satisfy their curiosity, and there they met a dismal procession. One or two men were being helped along as they stumbled and stayed, leaving heavy red drops on the road; others were being carried on stretchers; and the cause was that one of the trenches had caught fire, and a quantity of ammunition had given a demonstration on its own account, with the result that no less than six soldiers suffered. They were tenderly cared for, for by this time Mairi was a most efficient assistant, far better after her practical experience than many who have spent months in bandaging imaginary patients. But all this was done under great difficulties. There was no clean running water; no sinks and other appliances—only a dim, dark cellar, so small that one could hardly turn round; no room to store anything; constant curtailment of everything that a medical man would have looked upon as indispensable. The shortage of water was a great bother. There had been numerous pumps and wells, but most of them were choked or smashed. It was a great triumph when the genius Alexandre, poking about by himself in the dusty heaps of bricks and great fallen beams that now represented Pervyse, actually discovered a pump in working order. With that phlegm which was his most valuable quality, he annexed the top part of the pump, so that no one else could use it, and so exhaust the supply. As water even for drinking or cooking purposes was scarce, it may be deduced that water for baths was unobtainable. It was so at first, and as the Two slept night after night in their clothes—a proceeding which exhausts a woman far more than a man—a bath became a thing to sigh for. Of all the luxuries in England, the wide rooms, the dainty food and accessories, the soft sheets, the thought of a hot bath was the most alluring. The best they could do was to get a bucket of hot water occasionally, but the difficulty was to know when to make use of it, for the cellar-house was never free from intrusion any moment, night or day. It might be that Mairi had stationed herself on the topmost rung of the ladder to scare away all comers while Gipsy had a delicious wash below; but who was to foretell whether at that very moment when the bather was most helpless before convention, a desperate wounded man needing immediate succour might not materialize? 

At last a bath was discovered, a real porcelain bath of the latest kind—a most unusual thing to be in a Belgian village at all. It was unearthed in one of the tumble-down houses, and carted bodily into one of the ruined rooms above the cellar, where, by disregarding the risk of being shelled at any minute, one could have a bath with the strictly minimum amount of privacy necessary for decency. But before this great find was made Gipsy, getting desperate, borrowed a beautiful horse belonging to one of the officers and rode into L'Espérance, the little place where Dr. Van der Ghinst and other officers were now quartered, where was a tiny inn and the possibility of a wholesale wash. Just as she arrived there she met an Englishman. She looked at him keenly and he at her, and for a moment they paused, not knowing whether the flash of familiarity that passed between them was merely due to the magnetic attraction of a countryman and woman in a strange land, or the result of real acquaintance somewhere in that old, almost-forgotten life lived once, centuries ago, before the war. Gipsy recovered first, as the woman invariably does. She leaned down over her horse's silky neck, and said softly: "It was hard luck that you couldn't manage that last rise at Leith Hill! You would have beaten me!" 

Quick as a flash the new-comer retorted, laughing, "My own fault for having let the beastly thing leak; all the petrol had run out." Then they plunged into delightful reminiscences of the day of the motor- cycle contest and hill-climbing test, but all at once Gipsy sat up straight, and her delicate eyebrows drew together with an expression of anxiety as she looked back the way she had come. 

"Firing," he said, following her glance. "They say the Boches are shelling Pervyse." 

"Pervyse!" She sat straighter. "Oh yes, a few shells, Pervyse often gets those, but this is a storm!" 

"So they say," he answered, waving indifferently toward two officers who had come out and were standing at the entrance of the inn. 

"I must go back instantly." All thoughts of her bath were merged in the remembrance that Mairi was there alone in that tornado, far worse than anything they had yet been subjected to at the poste. 

The Englishman caught her rein. "Go back? Good lord! Why? You're well out of it!" 

She only laughed, flicked her rein from his hand, and with a cool nod trotted off hard toward the ominous sound. Dismounting on the outskirts of Pervyse, she hitched the horse up in one of the broken- down barns and went on on foot. But the firing was terrific. Shells began to burst around, and involuntarily she sprang to the meagre shelter of some broken walls. Then Woffington came round the corner driving a car as hard as he could go, with that curious silence they had already noticed, which made it seem like an object in a cinematograph. She stepped out and shouted to him to stop, and Woffington, who always had his wits about him, obeyed coolly. He said Miss Chisholm had sent him post-haste for the doctor, as a lot of wounded had been brought in. However, he turned without cavil and carried Mrs. Knocker back into the deadly fire-zone, setting her down at the cellar, before once more he reversed his car and ran out on his errand; and to his credit it may be noted his hand did not shake, nor had his colour in any way abated. 

The wounded were, as he had said, crowded in the cellar, with Mairi and the old priest kneeling by them; there was hardly room to get in beside them. One of the men over whom Gipsy bent had had his arm nearly severed, and with a quick contraction of the heart she recollected having met him on his way to the trenches as she rode out to L'Espérance only an hour before. Then he had given her a royal salute, and now never again would he be able to salute with that poor arm. 

After hard work, the wounded were patched up sufficiently to be sent down to Furnes. 

A day or so before this they had had a great excitement, for word had come that King Albert, the hero-King whom they were serving, was in the village. He did not come to the cellar, for which they were thankful, as he is so very tall. Mairi was certain he would have bumped his head "every minute," which would have been awful; but he spoke kindly to them both, with that absence of conventionality which characterizes him. 

With all the stern, and many times ghastly, scenes that they went through, there were bright intervals of enjoyment that stood out like beacons by the way. One of these was when an invitation came from the Engineer officers stationed at the bottom of the village for the two British ladies to go to dinner with them. They had lived so sparsely and simply on biscuits, chocolate, bully-beef, and cheese, and spent so little time or thought on preparing their own meals, that this came as a glad surprise. They had not realized until then how tired they were of the coarse, monotonous fare. They spent a whole hour beforehand trying to work themselves up to a due standard of attractiveness for the great occasion; but some stains on their worn clothes were impossible to remove. Exactly at six o'clock, as arranged, a couple of officers came to escort them on foot, and they passed down that wide, curved street, with the rows of shattered houses and the heaps of barbed wire, among which were one or two scanty, leafless trees sticking up perkily, not yet splintered or blasted by the firing. 

The officers were waiting to greet them with éclat. The house in which they were quartered was in better condition than most of the others in the village, and they had made it still more habitable. A round table was set out in the middle, though their utmost efforts had been unable to produce a cloth! Mairi says, "When the menu was presented to us, we nearly had a fit!" so surprising was the fare. She knew well their hosts must have worked for days beforehand to get such a menu together in this wilderness. 

 

MENU

Anchois d'Ecosse. 

Potage tomates. 

Asperges Irlandaises.Pré salé. 

Haricots verts. 

Poulets. 

Petits pois. 

Saucisson. 

Salade. 

Desserts variés. 

WlNE. Château Grand Puech. 

Haut Médoc and Champagne. 

 

"If that isn't fine, I don't know what is!" 

But this was not all. Music was also provided, and one of the soldiers, a born musician, played to them Liszt's Rhapsodies and other pieces out of his head during dinner, for the officers of the génie had also managed to procure a piano. 

The Two passed a gay and charming evening, and about 10.30 were safely escorted home again, a very necessary precaution, as the sentries in the village were apt to let off their rifles on very small provocation after dark. 

They had hardly got to sleep, feeling well fed and comforted in mind and body, when Gipsy was awakened by stealthy footsteps coming cautiously down the stairs. She turned on the electric torch she carried for emergencies, and, as the door was thrust back, saw two Belgian soldiers carrying another. The poor man was in agony, with a leg smashed by shrapnel and hanging by a thread. It was too bad a case for even a skilful nurse to manage, and, after examining it, she decided to have a doctor. But the chauffeur was away in Furnes, so she had to turn out herself and walk down the village to find the doctor, who slept with the soldiers. He came at once and did what he could willingly and cheerfully, but the poor fellow was too far gone to be saved. There was no more sleep, however, for the soldier's friend, who lay awake and constantly got up to ease him or minister to him as he moved and groaned. He was sent down to the hospital at Furnes the next day, but he died shortly after. 

It was quite obvious that, in spite of its advantage in being comparatively safe, the cellar was very unsuitable in many ways for the work, and the picture of that poor wretch with his trailing leg coming down the steep ladder, developed an idea that had been germinating in Gipsy's head. She discussed with Dr. Van der Ghinst and her friends, the Engineer officers, if it were possible to make a room in the house itself—say, on the ground floor—habitable, so that at least it could be used throughout the day and save the brave fellows much pain. The idea was accepted enthusiastically; everything that was feasible should be done at once. The house outside was just like any little straight up-and-down English cottage. The roof had been broken to pieces, but the passage on the ground floor was weather-tight, and out of this there opened a room on the right that, by a little shoring-up and roofing-in, could be made habitable. This was accomplished without delay, and, when it was finished, Gipsy says with delight, "It was lovely." To her impressionable nature surroundings meant much, and the mere fact of being able to have an open fire and to be above-ground made her very happy. 

When the Two moved into this palatial apartment there was a great merry-making. While they were all enjoying themselves, they heard the steady tramp of the "dear little soldiers" outside collecting to replace those who had had their turn in the trenches. There was not a man of them who did not look at the little house, marked by drooping flags, with a softened feeling in his heart, for that battered house to nearly all of them for the moment represented "home." It must be remembered that these men had, in the great majority of cases, lost sight of parents, wives, or children They did not know if they would ever see them again. They were up against a foe with enormous resources and crushing strength. All their country, except one tiny strip, was in the hands of that enemy; their conditions were most miserable. They lacked everything. The trenches were sodden and often actually under water, the weather was bitter; yet they were still cheerful, and though not by nature a fighting race, the brutal outrage of their giant neighbour had aroused in them a spirit equal to that of the most dour Scot. Also they had to uphold them the example of their noble King and Queen, whose fortitude is beyond anything that has ever been recorded of' Sovereigns. They had never left Belgian soil, and behind them was Britain, which had never yet been beaten. As a sign of it, here were these two British ladies, who had come to share the hardships and dangers of the rough soldiers, and live actually among them, to make for them a little bit of home in the wilderness. Some of these men were really clever in a variety of odd ways. Two of them played well and musically on two lengths of lead piping they had picked up and twisted into shape. 

An account of an ordinary day is given by Mairi about this time. "Our job is to get up at six, make chocolate or something hot, and keep it served all the day." No light job, either! From twelve to three some days without ceasing, except to snatch a biscuit, they served out chocolate, and as they had to go out late to the outposts, and were often disturbed in the night, it did not leave much time for rest. 

One day, Mairi, coming back with a pail full of potatoes, found a very young Lieutenant—a mere infant—standing outside the shattered house, but not daring to set his foot therein. He looked younger than he was, because his hair was of the soft downy kind seen on all very young things. She knew quite well he cherished an adoration for Gipsy so deep that it almost tore him in two, and that his appetite for bully-beef had been so seriously impaired that it had provoked comment. He flushed a pretty pink all over his chubby little face when he saw her, and saluted, but did not move. 

"Are you going on duty?" she asked, for Mairi, whose French had been of the schoolroom variety when she arrived, now rushed headlong into it on all occasions. 

"Non, Mamselle." 

"Are you going off duty?" 

"Non, Mamselle." 

"Are you going to do anything?" 

"Non, Mamselle." 

"What are you standing there for, then?" 

"Rien du tout, Mamselle." 

She burst out laughing and ran into the room. "Oh, you infant- catcher," she addressed the astonished Gipsy, "go and see your handiwork, and think scorn of yourself!" 

Gipsy put her head out of the door, but this was too much for the youth. His feelings were altogether beyond him; the sight of the adored one overcame him, and he turned on his heel and walked briskly away. We are told that in the fourth highest heaven of the Buddhists a touch of the hand satisfies love, in the fifth lovers simply gaze upon each other, and in the sixth existence in the same place is enough. Here was an example of it. 

At nights there was sometimes a terrific noise from the guns, and though she might well have been inured to it by this time, Gipsy often lay awake listening, trying to distinguish between the Belgian or French guns which were behind and the German shells which came from the front. The Belgian batteries were so well concealed that even she and Mairi did not know where they were, though they could occasionally hear the "ping" of the telephone by which the results were communicated, possibly by their friend Captain de Wilde, who was observation officer. The departing shells had a sort of finished swish about them that sounded as if they said, "Now I'm off," and with a rush and report that shook the building they went; but those that arrived made a kind of despairing burst that shouted, "I've done my worst, and I've not killed you." 

So long as no military orders to evacuate the poste were given, the Two stuck to it, however bad the bombardment, but they knew the summons might come at any moment. One night, when hopeless wakefulness possessed her, Gipsy lit the lamp, and saw that even the imperturbable Woffington was awake, chewing a piece of straw between his teeth, though Mairi slept soundly through the vibrating, ear-splitting crashes. In the intervals between these Mrs. Knocker said, "We may have to go, Woffy." 

He nodded. 

"Supposing the order came, and I said I wouldn't go, what would you do? Leave me?" 

He considered the situation. 

"I'd get a hold of you by the shoulder and give you a good un, and say, ' 'Ere, Knocker, up and 'op it!' " he decided at last. 

At that second came the most appalling bang; the very house danced, for the lamp was shaken out! And Mairi, sitting up in the darkness amid her straw, cried out, "What is it? What has happened?”' 

Though often there was comparatively little shelling in the daytime, it was impossible to make up a lost night's rest then, for people were in and out all day; if it wasn't the wounded needing attention, it was members of the ambulance corps flying out in their cars, perhaps bringing sightseers as to a show. Among the people who visited Pervyse from time to time were Ramsay Macdonald, Madame Curie, and Maxine Elliott, a grotesquely incongruous trio, within which every variety of nature and occupation incidental to civilized human nature might be fitted! 

The poste was unique; such a thing had not only never been heard of, but never been thought of, before. There was even a certain amount of jealousy about it; others doing various kinds of work in Belgium pictured themselves in similar surroundings, but they never saw the gruesome side of the work there, the aching back and splitting head, and the constant anxiety. They only saw a singularly dramatic situation like the scene on a stage, with a singularly beautiful and inspiring couple of women in it, and it was not in human nature that they should not contemplate the possibility of making a similar setting for themselves. What Gipsy thought of all this, especially of the reporters who hunted her out, may be gathered from the following private letter to a near relative: 

"You tell me in your letters that you often see our names mentioned in the papers. I hope mine is not often there. I'm afraid I have fallen out with many reporters, but I hate all this penny-a-line business. I realize now that many decorations are not worth anything, and one sees, on the other hand, so many really fine things done without a word of recognition, because they are done so quietly that they never get into the papers. I have a Belgian friend, a Dr. Van der Ghinst, who has probably never been heard of in England, and certainly does not wish to be—a quiet, splendid character. He was in Dixmude seven days and seven nights, absolutely alone, just keeping together the wounded men and civilians, and getting them out gradually from that veritable hell." 

But if the visitors ignored the dangers in connection with that attractive setting, they were well known to the military. For some time Dr. Van der Ghinst had been uneasy as the German guns grew fiercer, and one day the good priest, who rode about on a fat white mare as round in the barrel as the variety on which the statues of our Stuart Kings are usually set, added his voice to the doctor's, telling the ladies that a terrible bombardment was expected, and they had better leave for safer quarters while there was time. 

That same night, when everyone had gone, after —as the poste said—inconsiderately stirring up their feelings, Gipsy began to wonder if, after all, they ought not to go also; at any rate, the responsibility lay with her. Mairi would do whatever she was told, for among her great charms was one not usually associated with so young a girl—a loyal obedience to anyone whom she trusted. They began to discuss the question together, and finally, both being rather worked up, they decided to go down the village to the génie house, as they called it, and ask the advice of the Engineers. 

It was a wild night, and the wind caught the rain and slung it this way and that, until it became as sharp as hail. Also it was very dark, so, clutching each other's hands and groping with their feet, the Two crept step by step along the ruined street, followed by the faithful Woffington. 

They found the Engineer officers at supper, and were cordially welcomed. It was, indeed, an unexpected picture when Mrs. Knocker, with her brilliant eyes shining, peered in at the door, and Mairi peeped past her, with her fair hair uncovered, as she dashed the wet from her helmet cap. 

The officers promptly suggested that they should pass the night there, as, being at the far end of the village from the front, the génie house was less likely to be shelled than the cellar. One of the younger men, whom they had nicknamed "Lieutenant Shrapnel," gallantly vacated his room, and so the Two slept there, with Woffington on a stretcher at their feet. 

At five o'clock next morning a hideous alarum-clock went off with a scurry and shriek, and there was almost immediately cheery laughter and much scraping of feet, and some snatches of song that for the moment bewildered the two guests, who had forgotten where they were. At 6.30 came breakfast, consisting of toast, cream-cheese, fresh butter, and strawberry jam! In the middle of it an orderly arrived with orders for the officers to evacuate and go to Yprés. The Major waved the letter above his head. "Dieu vous a bénit!" he exclaimed, pointing out that Providence had evidently designed this order for the express purpose of allowing the poste to take up its quarters in this house instead of their own. This seemed to be the general opinion, and against fate there is no fighting. So when the last officer clattered off, Mairi with a deep sigh of satisfaction, set to work and scrubbed and cleaned and wiped and dusted, and made the place a little more presentable. 

After all, the officers came back, but not the meanest man among them would have disturbed the ladies; so they fixed themselves up in another half-ruined house elsewhere.