“Aw, gwan, you’s kiddin’ me, yo’ is! Say, ain’t we gwine tuh stop somewhar’s ’en see dese marines go by an’ holler at ’em lak we done--?”
“No, indeed. We’ve got to go on and get back,” said Don. “Orders are to report near LaFerté, to a French officer. The evacuation hospitals down there are all French, I guess. And now all the army down there is French, too, I expect, so we’ll bring in their wounded mostly. But if our boys--”
“Does dese yer Frenchers all yell an’ hollah when dey’s hurt bad?” Wash asked. So far he had seen but two of them, both seriously wounded, and they had done a good deal of groaning and calling for water. But the question went unanswered, for just at the moment the ambulance was compelled to veer off nearly into the ditch in order to dodge a broken-down car and the ever passing lorries, the negro being bounced almost off his seat.
“Ah doan keer whar we goes tu from yere, jes’ so’s we git somewhar’s whar de sun shines lak hit do now fo’ a little while. Ah suttenly doan lak dis puddle bizness what we has mos’ de time sense Ah ben in dis yere France. Hit sure am some wet country. Now dis day ain’ so bad, so Ah’ll jes’ tap wood--” and he rapped himself on the head.
The round trip completed, Don and Wash at the base hospital, re-stocked their car for any emergency. They started out on a new road, coming up with the tail end of the marines in their big camions--passing them, one by one. The way led east, then south and east again, passing first through the town of Senlis, then around the little city of Meaux, then away on a splendid road toward Rheims. Before reaching the objective beyond the town of LaFerté, the road crossed the beautiful Marne, called a river, though Don regarded it merely a big creek, as it would be called in America.
Oh and ever on, rumbled the camions, the yellow lorries with the marines, and Don expected again to catch sight of Clem Stapley. However, it was not these fighting men that most interested him, for on this Rheims road the boy saw for the first time what he would probably never see again--refugees, fleeing from the German army.
It was a sight never to be forgotten--one to wring pity out of the most stony-hearted, to sober the most waggish, to sadden the gentler-minded as hardly even death, or the suffering of the wounded could do. Driven from their homes, fearing the wrath of the invader, expecting only to return and find all their property destroyed, except the little they could carry away, given over to pillage, or the flames. They trudged along, embittered by injustice, powerless to protest, stolid or weeping, but all of one mind. They sought only a place of safety from the Huns. They were mostly afoot; many old men, the younger and middle-aged women and the stronger boys and girls were the beasts of burden, carrying or drawing great loads in makeshift carts, or light wagons, the more fortunate having horse or cow, or perhaps donkey or dog, harnessed to help. On these loads rode the smaller children and the very aged.