'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.
