by Grace E. Craig, July 1917
There were real "ambulance-girls" in "The Great War" as more men were required for fighting. Of course the story does not reveal the real horror of the front, but it went to feed the imaginations of children who were bombarded with stories about warfare from the moment the United States declared war. Even the smallest children learned to knit and contribute something to the soldiers. If you hadn't guessed, a poilu is a French soldier."I want so much—oh, so much—to do something for France!"
"But, ma chère," and the dainty little old lady tripping along the Avenue de l'Opéra by Esther Alden 's side slipped a comfroting hand through the young girl's arm, "you are knitting contantly for the soldiers. Have you not just completed your twenty-seventh pair of socks?"
"I know, Madame Forestier," and Esther's pretty face was pensive, "But that is nothing. People at home in New York can knit. We Americans who are here in France should do more than that toward paying the debt we owe the French people. think of all they did for us at the time of our Revolution! Why, we might never have had our dear, beautiful American but for them!"
"Madame Alden is most devotedly serving my country," the little French lady said, "and Monsieur Alden, also."
"Yes, Mother is doing her share nursing in the hospital, and Brother Leslie is making a splendid record driving his ambulance; but," and Esther sighed, "there seems to be no work—no work at all—for a girl to do."
"Certainly a young lady of sixteen cannot nurse, neither can she drive an ambulance," Madame Forestier assented.
"Oh! I can do either as well as Mother or Leslie," Esther asserted; "but, of course, I 'm not allowed. And, Madame, it make me just crazy to sit comfortably at home in our apartment and Feel I am absolutely useless."
"Perhaps, ma petite, your chance may come," Madame encouraged her; "and in the meantime you are a great comfrot to an old woman. It is your cheeriness which has helped me to endure the days since my brave sons went to the front. I consider it a most fortunate thing that your dear mother asked me to bear you company during her hours at the hospital."
Esther smiled tenderly down into the bright black eyes of her old friend.
"Thank you for saying that, dear Madame," she said. "I really feel a little less good-for-nothing now."
The sunshine was falling brightly upon Paris on this May morning, and the shops and hotels along the avenue, which had been closed during the first dreadful weeks of the war when the German legions were almost at the gates of the city, were now open, but the thoroughfare still lacked much of the light and life of former springtimes. The throngs of American tourists, the gay, red-trousered soldiers of Franch and their bright-eyed sweethearts, the excited, fashionably attired devotees of the races, all had vanished. To-day only very businesslike pedestrians passed to and fro. There was little loitering and no laughter.
Esther and Madame crossed the wide Place de l'Opéra with slight difficulty, the multitude of taxicabs and private motors which in peace times had made the passage of Paris squares perilous having been reduced by half, strolled around the imposing Opera House, and entered the door of a bank where it was the young American girl's duty to call fortnightly for funds forwarded to her mother from her lawyer in New York.
On the death of her husband, five years before, Mrs. Alden had come to Europe with her two children. In Paris she found old friends, and what had been intended for a brief summer sojourn had lengthened into a long foreign residence. All the members of the little family had become so warmly attached to the pleasant land of France and its sunny-hearted people that on the outbreak of war they promptly decided to stand by the country in her time of dire need and defer their return to America. Mrs. Alden, calm and capable, at once offered her means and her services to one of the American hospitals, and sturdy, twenty-year-old Leslie was one of the first volunteers for the American Ambulance Field Service. Esther readily agreed to take charge of the apartment and the servants, with the help of their neighbor, the little madame, and she was really very proud of her newly acquired housekeeping ability; but there were days when she grew a bit restive, days when her quiet, every-day tasks seemed insignificant compared with the self-sacrificing labors which she saw all about her and when she longed with all the ardor of eager youth to do some great service for the brave nation which she had come to love.
She stood rather listlessly before the window as the banker counted out her gold and silver, hut her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure and her dimples came into play when the old man, after handing her the money, said kindly, "I have noted the name of Monsieur Alden, the brother of mademoiselle, among those of American ambulance-drivers who have recently distinguished themselves by courageous conduct under fire."
Esther gloried in big, broad-shouldered Leslie, who had put aside a strong desire to return to America in time to enter the present junior class at Harvard to go down into the fiery valleys of the Marne and the Aisne with his little car of succor, and who was now at Pont-a-Mousson in the very thick of the fighting. To hear him praised was a joy, and, after a little chat with the old banker, she followed Madame out into the sunny street with a lighter heart. It was, after all, something to be the sister of such a brave, splendid brother.
She was talking to her companion in her own bright fashion when the two reached the Alden apartment, but on the threshold of the cozy library the laughter suddenly died upon her lips. Her mother, in her white nursing uniform, was standing in the middle of the room, looking pale and agitated.
"Mummy!" Esther found her voice with difficulty. "Oh, Mummy! What has brought you home from the hospital at this hour? It 's— it 's not— Leslie?"
"No, no, dearest child!" and Mrs. Alden came quickly forward and put comforting arms about her daughter. "Not Leslie, but Leslie's chum, Donald Hilliard. The poor boy was seriously injured yesterday when going out with his car to fetch some wounded soldiers from an exposed poste de secours. On hearing the news I immediately asked permission to go to him, and the Paris office of the field service has kindly arranged to send me by motor to Dieulouard, a few kilometers from Pont-a-Mousson. I am advised to wear my uniform, as a nurse may pass where others may not, and 1 must be ready to start at eleven o'clock."
Esther's eyes were wide with alarm.
"Mother!" she cried. "You 're not going to leave me behind?"
"I am afraid I must, Essie," and Mrs. Alden brushed back the bright curls from the troubled girlish face. "Madame will remain with you, and it is only for a few days, you know. You '11 not be very lonely, dear."
"It 's not that, Mummy darling," Esther declared. "It 's you. I can't let you go out there alone. I must go to take care of you."
Mrs. Alden considered.
"Of course, I should love to have you with me, Daughter," she said. "I will call the field service headquarters on the telephone and ask if you may be of the party. It can do no harm to make the request, though we must not count on its being granted."
But Mrs. Alden had served her hospital faithfully for many weary months, and grateful friends, both American and French, were glad of an opportunity to do her even a slight favor. In ten minutes Esther heard with joy that she was to be permitted to accompany her mother to the front, and in an hour the travelers kissed Madame Forestier farewell, and, wrapped in warm motor-coats, took their places in the tonneau of a large touring-car.
It was almost impossible to realize that the pleasant country through which the automobile was presently speeding had less than two years before been the scene of the terrible battle of the Marne, so quiet it seemed to-day, so smilingly peaceful, and the town of Épernay, for a brief time occupied by the Germans, was quite uninjured. But farther on ruined farmsteads and half-demolished villages bore silent witness to the recent passing of the flaming wave of war.
It was past midnight when the dim lights of the little town which was their destination finally came in sight, and on reaching a cheerful inn fronting the main street Esther was glad to follow her mother upstairs to a quaint room under the sloping eaves.
After the long hours in the open air she slept soundly; and when she awakened, the morning sun was streaming in through the diamond-paned windows and her mother was standing, fully dressed, beside her bed. From the soft brown eyes looking down upon her the anxiety had vanished.
Esther sat up quickly.
"Mother dear, you 've good news!" she cried. "I can see it in your face."
"Yes, the very best of news," her mother answered cheerily. "Don's wounds have turned out to be much less severe than was at first thought."
"Oh, I 'm so glad!" Esther rejoiced. "Have you seen him, Mummy? And dear old Less?"
"While you were sleeping, little lazy-bones," and Mrs. Alden smiled mischievously, "I motored several miles to the hospital and paid Don a call. He is resting comfortably and will recover rapidly. I shall send a reassuring cable to his people in New York as soon as possible. Leslie we cannot see to-day. He is on duty in another town, and will not return to headquarters at Pont-a-Mousson before evening. But," as Esther's face fell, "our permit allows us to remain here until to-morrow, so we shall not miss him."
"I simply could n't have borne that!" Esther declared.
"He will dine with us here at the inn,"» Mrs. Alden assured her, "and then we can have a long, delightful evening together. But now you must dress, Essie. The French colonel in command at Pont-a-Mousson has invited us to visit the town and a neighboring poste de secours, and a member of his staff will call for us in an hour. The expedition will be a most interesting one, and will serve to pass the time until we can meet Leslie."
Esther's blue eyes grew wide with interest as they motored slowly through the debris-strewn streets of recently bombarded Pont-a-Mousson, and she kissed her hand to the villa, on the outskirts of the town, which the young officer who accompanied them told her was the home of the section of the American Ambulance Field Service station here. Seeing the house which had sheltered her brother for so long made her feel that they were really very near him at last.
A short distance from the poste de secours, which was the final object of the excursion, they left the automobile and entered a network of shallow excavations.
"On the road beyond this point there is always danger from German bullets," their guide explained. "These trenches conceal us from the enemy and make a safe approach to the poste."
And Esther, following as he walked swiftly with bent head, thrilled with excitement. This was truly getting very close to war.
At the little emergency-station everything was bare, but scrupulously clean. Medicines and dressings were carefully arranged in a small cupboard, and cots were ready for the wounded soldiers who might be brought in at any moment from the first-line trenches. Here such unfortunates received first aid, and were then hurried on by ambulance to hospitals in the rear.
Only a French surgeon, a young American ambulance-driver, and an orderly were at the poste to-day, but from these the Red Cross nurse and her daughter received a warm welcome.
"We are not often so idle," the surgeon said, as he displayed the resources of the place, "but the Boches have been very quiet about here for the past few days."
"Is it not difficult at such times to remember that they are such near neighbors?" Mrs. Alden asked.
"Oh, they 're likely to remind us of their presence almost any time!" young Harold Lee, the American driver, grinned. "I say, there they go now!"
A strange, wild shriek sounded on the air. It came nearer and nearer, growing constantly louder and more hideous, and culminating in a terrific detonation which shook the little building to its foundations. The occupants of the tiny room stared at each other.
Then, "A German shell," the French officer stated calmly.
"We must get away at once," Mrs. Alden said, rising.
"Impossible, Madame!" the officer answered quickly. "Another shell will arrive immediately. You are quite safe here, for a hill protects the poste, but a few steps in either direction—ah !" and he spread out his palms significantly.
"But the trenches," Mrs. Alden insisted, "through which we came—"
"Little protection from shell-fire," young Lee put in.
"It may be only a brief bombardment," the surgeon sought to cheer her; "and if you wait here, Madame, you will be perfectly secure."
But hour after hour went by and the shells still screamed overhead. Batteries of French guns, hidden in the near-by woods, responded vigorously, adding their voice to the frightful tumult. The officer made two or three valiant attempts to divert his guests, but his words were lost in the din, and the little party lapsed into silence.
Esther sat quietly beside her mother upon a packing-case. She had no fear for herself, but when she thought of Leslie, out somewhere on the shell-swept roads in his little car, she could not help drawing her breach quickly. So this was what he was obliged to pass through on his errands of mercy!
Suddenly the door, which the officer had carefully closed, was pushed open and two men came stumbling in. Between them they bore a stretcher, upon which lay a huddled mass which Esther presently realized was a wounded man.
"Ah! I thought we should have something to do if the bombardment continued," the surgeon said, rising briskly and bending over the prostrate form.
Mrs. Alden also rose and, throwing off her coat, joined the doctor.
"May I help?" she asked gently.
Esther was very proud of her mother as she watched her moving deftly about in her snowy gown, and she longed to join her in her ministrations to the poor hurt creature in the uniform of a soldier of France, but to her intense disgust she suddenly found herself struggling with nausea. The odor of disinfectants choked her, and she turned and fled to the door. And only yesterday she had boasted to Madame that she could nurse as well as Mother!
She was still standing, half dazed, in the doorway when the peasants again took up the stretcher and bore it out to the waiting ambulance. She caught a glimpse of the white face of its occupant, a mere lad, heard young Lee say to the surgeon: "Yes, sir, I understand it 's important. I '11 get him to the hospital in an hour," and saw him dash down the steps and bend to crank his car. And then suddenly he was standing before her, holding his right wrist in his left hand.
"Please call the surgeon," he said, a little breathlessly. "Guess he '11 have to patch me up a bit before I can start. I 've been stupid enough to hurt myself rather badly," and he sank down, half fainting, at her feet.
The surgeon was quickly on the spot.
"A broken wrist," was his prompt verdict. "You cannot drive the car to-night, my boy."
"But I must," Lee cried, making an effort to rise. "You said yourself it was a rush case, and Fairbanks won't be here for another hour. He telephoned just before the shelling began that he had engine trouble and would have to stop in Pont-a-Mousson for repairs. The lieutenant is n't allowed to go. There 's no one but me to do the trick. Patch me up and let me go!"
"I honor your courage, sir," the little doctor said kindly, "but the thing is impossible. No man in your condition could guide a car."
"But the poilu—"
The surgeon turned away sadly.
"He must take his chance, poor lad!" he sighed. "It is the fortune of war."
Esther left the door, ran down the steps, and stood before the surgeon. Her eyes were like stars, her cheeks brilliant.
"I know all about Ford cars." she announced. "I 've often driven one. I will take the man to the hospital."
The surgeon stared.
"You, Mademoiselle!" he cried.
"The road is dangerous," the young officer declared; "exposed to shell-fire for a good portion of the way."
"And a young lady—" the surgeon began.
Esther's blue eyes met her mother's brown ones, and what she saw there made her lift her head confidently.
"I 'm not afraid," she insisted; "and if I wear Mr. Lee's coat and cap no one will know I 'm a girl. Oh, please let me go! Your man will die! Mother dear, tell them I can do it!"
Esther never knew just what happened during the next few minutes. She felt her mother's kisses on her cheek, heard the French officer's excited regrets that his orders prevented his accompanying her and Lee's cool directions as to the road she must follow, and then she was in the driver's seat, steadily guiding the ambulance down the narrow lane which led away from the low building under the hill.
The sun had set, but the afterglow and a young moon made the May evening bright. She could see the main road stretching whitely before her to the poplar-bordered river Moselle, beyond which lay Pont-a-Mousson. The engine was running smoothly, and for the time her task seemed easy.
The big car in which they had come out from town still stood where they had left it for their walk to the poste. The chauffeur, frightened by the bombardment, had deserted it and fled. Esther drew a relieved breath as she passed it. At least she was now out of range of rifle-fire from the German trenches. There were only shells to fear at this distance, and one had not arrived for some time. Perhaps there would be no more.
But vain hope! The now well-known shriek sounded in her ears, and in a moment a huge shell whistled directly over her head. For an instant it seemed to the young driver that she must stop the engine, get out of the car, and take refuge behind the stone wall on the right of the road. It was too terrible here, in this bare, exposed spot. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the silent form in the back of the ambulance and shook herself angrily. What would Leslie say, Leslie who faced this sort of thing daily, if he knew that she had even for a moment contemplated deserting such a passenger? With set teeth she increased her speed and flew on down the road.
Shell after shell passed over her head, and at one point she was obliged to slow down and drive the ambulance very carefully around a vast, smoking crater where one of the great bombs had just burrowed into the road-bed, but at last she crossed the bridge over the Moselle, threaded the unlighted, ruined streets of Pont-a-Mousson, and rolled up to the door of the hospital on the farther side of the town. Another ambulance had just come in, and there beside it. looking very brave and handsome in his khaki, stood—Leslie!
The bombardment ended as abruptly as it had begun, and Mrs. Alden was soon able to follow her daughter to safety. The little family of three spent a happy evening together in the inn at Dieulouard, but the proudest and happiest moment Esther had ever known came the next morning when she had taken her place beside her mother in the big car which was to hurry them back to Paris.
Leslie, standing on the running-board, looked at her affectionately.
"I 'm very proud of you, little sister," he said. "I always knew you were plucky, but what you did yesterday was more than that."
"Oh, no!" Esther demurred. "I 'm not plucky at all, Less. I was sick when they were dressing my soldier 's wounds, and I was scared to death out on that dreadful road."
"But you kept on just the same," Leslie said, "and that 's where the courage came in. You saved that poor chap 's life by getting him to the hospital so promptly. I 've just seen him and he is quite conscious and sends you his thanks. And the fellows of the corps thank you, too."
The young men of the field serivce were gathered at the door of the inn. Mrs. Alden bowed smilingly to those she knew, but Esther looked shyly away.
"I did n't think anybody knew," she faltered. "I did n't intend they should. I just wanted to help—to do my part for France."
"Well, you surely did it, Sis," Leslie asserted, "and for the ambulance corps, too. We never like to slip up on a job, you know, and but for you that car would have left the poste several hours too late. All the fellows are more than grateful to you, and they have unanimously elected you an honorary member of Section Ten, American Ambulance Field Service."
As the automobile began to move, Leslie jumped down and stood among his mates.
The leader of the group lifeted his hand, and a chorus of rousing American cheers followed the big car as it rolled away.
"Hurrah!" the young men shouted. "Hurrah for the ambulance-girl!"
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