At Merbes-Ste.-Marie, a matter of six kilometers from Binche, we came on
the first proof of seeming wantonness we encountered that day. An old
woman sat in a doorway of what had been a wayside wine shop, guarding
the pitiable ruin of her stock and fixtures. All about her on the floor
was a litter of foul straw, muddied by many feet and stained with
spilled drink. The stench from a bloated dead cavalry horse across the
road poisoned the air. The woman said a party of private soldiers,
straying back from the main column, had despoiled her, taking what they
pleased of her goods and in pure vandalism destroying what they could
not use.
Her shop was ruined, she said. With a gesture of both arms, as though
casting something from her, she expressed how utter and complete was her
ruin. Also she was hungry--she and her children--for the Germans had
eaten all the food in the house and all the food in the houses of her
neighbors. We could not feed her, for we had no stock of provisions
with us; but we gave her a five-franc piece and left her calling down
the blessings of the saints on us in French-Flemish.
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