HO 51 
 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
Elizabeth Walker Black. 
 
HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 BY 
 ELIZABETH WALKER BLACK 
 
 " We've seen too much to remember. We'ra 
 too little to hold it. Men are things that 
 think a little but chiefly forget. If one did 
 remember there wouldn't be any more war." 
 — " Under Fire." 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1919 
 
COPYEIGHT, 1919, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER's SONS 
 PUBLISHED JANUARY, 1919 
 
 
 IAN 30 i3iS 
 
 ASS- 
 
 C))CLA5ll45'jL 
 
TO 
 
 MY MOTHER AND FATHER 
 
 WHO HAVE FOXXB STARS IN THEIE SEEVICE FLAQ 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 I wish to thank Laurette Taylor for giv- 
 ing me the inspiration to go "Out There,'* 
 untrained, but willing to work, the Amer- 
 ican Girls' Aid for my passport, and Mrs. 
 Noe-Daly for taking me to the front. 
 
 For helping me to "stick it," my thanks 
 are due to the letters written by my mother 
 and my Civil War uncle, who beUeve that 
 girls, as well as boys, should leave home to 
 stand by the colors, and serve with every 
 bit of themselves the country which is the 
 mother of us all. 
 
 Elizabeth Walker Black. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAFTEB PAGX 
 
 I. The Letter-Box 3 
 
 II. American Crusaders 19 
 
 III. With the Third French Army . 36 
 
 IV. The -Blesses 54 
 
 V. Life at the Front 75 
 
 VI. An Attack 96 
 
 VII. Under Fire 115 
 
 VIII. Fetes 128 
 
 IX. Evacuation op Auto Chir No. 7 . 148 
 
 X. Arrival of the British Fifth Army 167 
 
 XI. En Repos . 182 
 
 XII. During the German Advance . . 199 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 EHzaheth Walker Black Frontispiece : 
 
 VACINQ FAGB 
 
 Cugny 42 
 
 "Monsieur le Valet" and other patients of Ward V . 70 
 
 The hospital in winter 76 ' 
 
 Dressings in the " salle de pansements" 104 
 
 WardV 130 
 
 The evacuation train 158 
 
 The arrival of the British Fifth Army 168 / 
 
HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE LETTER-BOX 
 
 ^ I^HE office of "Gestionnaire" was a 
 -■- mass of floating veils and soiled 
 aprons as every one looked eagerly for 
 letters on their way to luncheon. 
 
 "No American mail, yet !" "There hasn't 
 been any for weeks." "Nothing much for 
 you," tossing some dingy envelopes in my 
 direction with my name spelled in every 
 conceivable manner: Le Blat, Blac, Blague. 
 
 I took them away to a quiet corner to 
 enjoy them by myseK as a dog with his 
 bone. They were very precious, these letters, 
 written for the most part in pencil; and 
 very hard to read, not because the hand- 
 writing was poor, but because it was too 
 good — so fine and small. They came as 
 thank-you letters from the trenches or 
 from beds in base hospitals whenever a 
 
4 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 train of evacuation took my wounded out 
 of the danger zone. I call them mine be- 
 cause I had the ward for "Petits Blesses," 
 and, being the less serious cases, they were 
 sent off as quickly as possible to make 
 room for the new ones who were brought 
 in every day from the trenches where they 
 received their first dressing. I liked to re- 
 ceive these letters, for they showed that in 
 spite of the rush of work I had made friends. 
 I opened a large yellow envelope, and read: 
 
 Mademoiselle: 
 
 I dare not think you will remember me, 
 but receive anyway the thanks of a little 
 poilu who had the honor of being taken 
 care of by a little miss. A thousand times 
 thanks ! How have I had such happiness, I 
 who never had luck in my life. I have been 
 in two hospitals since leaving the Auto 
 Chir No. 7,* but I missed the soft hand that 
 used to do my dressing. Often I see in 
 thought Ward V, always joyous that ward. 
 Do you sing still in the evening? How can 
 
 * Automobile Chirurgical, a surgical hospital ready to move at 
 any time, attached to an evacuation or field hospital near the 
 front. 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 5 
 
 I forget the good care you gave ? One does 
 not forget so soon good people. I dare not 
 ask, though I would like the pleasure of re- 
 ceiving a letter from you now and then 
 telling me what is happening in that Ward. 
 I would like to sharpen your pencil again 
 or roll the cotton for the dressing cart. 
 
 Do you remember the day you trimmed 
 all our moustaches .f^ How proud we had 
 been all the younger ones to have acquired 
 these sweeping graces of manhood, and how 
 "Monsieur le Tigre" roared when his dis- 
 appeared under your relentless shears ! You 
 had the courage. Mademoiselle. It was just 
 after the "soupe," and you said you could 
 stand it no longer, that we must all be 
 trimmed like the Americans. Since revisit- 
 ing my home in Bordeaux which is full of 
 Americans, I appreciate your point of view. 
 
 Now completely healed, I have rejoined 
 my regiment. It is five o'clock in the morn- 
 ing and I am in a hole with water to my 
 ankles. We have reached the second line of 
 the Boches. I worked with confidence be- 
 cause I thought I was fighting as much for 
 you as for myseK, and see, because of this 
 thought, I am safe and sound. When will 
 this abominable war be ended ? You too are 
 near the Front, like the soldiers doing your 
 duty. It must be very tiring to be with 
 
6 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 your wounded so long without a rest. I give 
 you all my compliments on your beautiful 
 act of devotion. Permit me to offer you 
 these little flowers received in a letter from 
 my parents for good luck. 
 
 I close my letter in wishing you good 
 
 health. Will you wish the doctor, D , 
 
 good morning for me? Also the orderly, 
 Leclerq. I pray you to excuse my writing 
 in pencil on such modest paper, but it is a 
 poor Httle poilu who writes. Receive the 
 expression of my highest consideration. 
 [Followed by a complicated signature and 
 army address.] 
 
 The next letter was written in lavender 
 ink on pale-blue paper with a deeper-blue 
 border. 
 
 My Dear Little Nurse: 
 
 Our journey in the hospital train was 
 good, and I am growing accustomed to hav- 
 ing only one leg and a half. I am in the 
 mountains to get the good air. This hospital 
 is good but how I regret the Auto Chir 
 No. 7 where you were so kind. I am bored 
 here. I think often of the troubles I made 
 you endure. I was a restive patient, never 
 satisfied, always scolding. How I shouted 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 7 
 
 "Enough! Enough! Gently!" every time 
 you gave the Carrel treatment. Today I 
 ask forgiveness for all that. Will you be 
 indulgent enough to pardon me? I cannot 
 make grand phrases. I can only say a big 
 thank you very simple and sincere. My 
 parents write that they wish me to thank 
 you for the good care I received during my 
 stay in your ward. I am homesick for that 
 ward. I hope to see you in the United States 
 after the war. I have found your fete day 
 in my little calendar of the saints. It is my 
 prayer that the war will end on that day, 
 November nineteenth. 
 
 I have been decorated with the "medaille 
 militaire" and the "croix de guerre" and 
 am very happy. But I wish you were here. 
 No one comes through the ward at two 
 o'clock saying "Milk or chocolate .^^ " and 
 counting the number of orders for each on 
 her fingers. I remember your difficulty in 
 pronouncing French words and phrases 
 which made us laugh. A lot of little cares 
 and attentions have been discounted which 
 I never lacked with you. 
 
 Will you give my address please to the 
 "Vaguemestre" so he can send my letters 
 hercf^ I will never forget you for you took 
 good care of me when I suffered most. I am 
 always afraid you may be wounded, too, by 
 
8 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 a bomb from the aeroplanes. You are so 
 near the Hnes. And the cold weather? You 
 must be frozen. You were always so cold 
 and could hardly hold the thermometer to 
 shake it down. 
 
 With all the best wishes of a grateful 
 little soldier who admires your devotion. 
 
 There were several picture post-cards. 
 One from a farmer's unit in the interior 
 where the crippled soldiers were taught to 
 serve their country even if they had lost 
 a hand or a leg. Another was a picture of a 
 casino on the Riviera transformed into a 
 convalescent home. Another sent "poor 
 httle cards of my own country" having re- 
 turned on leave before going back to the 
 trenches, and beginning the weary game all 
 over again. They were all marked "Souvenir 
 of a blesse who will never forget," and 
 were sent with the usual polite expressions 
 of "homages and sentiments the most re- 
 spectful and devoted." One very elaborate 
 card had flowers embroidered in colored 
 silk and opened like an envelope enclosing 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 9 
 
 a little card printed in English for my special 
 benefit: "Greetings from France. To my 
 dear Brother." 
 
 One letter was in English from a French 
 boy born in San Francisco. He was not one 
 of my blesses, but visited my ward often 
 and helped me with my French, being a 
 better interpreter than letter- writer. Here 
 it is as I received it: 
 
 Dear Miss: 
 
 Don't take care if i speak not very well, 
 i write like the french speak. You have one 
 of my chaps in your room in Bed No. 41. 
 tell him if you please that the boys of the 
 3 piece give him a good day and hope him 
 much better. Tell me how is he please. 
 
 I am at home since yesterday for twenty 
 days, i hope you always in good health. 
 Your's sincerely, the American boy who 
 was in your hospital. Great hope to you! 
 
 An artillery sergeant "permitted" him- 
 self to send me his photograph, standing 
 proudly beside his cannon. He also sent his 
 cordial salutation and profuse apologies for 
 
10 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the grimace he had made on account of the 
 sun. 
 
 Several of the blesses called me "made- 
 moiselle marraine" instead of "mademoi- 
 selle" or "infirmiere" (nurse). The next 
 letter was from one of these godsons of 
 war, enclosing a post-card. 
 
 My Dear and Good Little Marraine: 
 I permit myself to send you this picture 
 of the chateau where we are being cared for. 
 I hurry to write you these few words. For 
 several days blesses have arrived from Auto 
 Chir No. 7 who speak often of Mademoiselle 
 Marraine. You were a model "Infirmiere" 
 and all the patients loved you. Here I begin 
 to make friends who ask me for a song, but 
 I think often of the evenings in Ward V. I 
 enjoyed singing to you in my little bed 
 No. 6. I was better off there than here in 
 a chateau. I have lost Riviere. My foot is 
 better but I still use crutches. I am 18 kilo- 
 meters from Frangois and when I am better 
 I shall walk over to say hello. 
 
 With greatest respect and thanks for good 
 care received, 
 
 A little lame "fiUeul" who thinks of you. 
 I permit myself to give you my address. 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 11 
 
 and I hope you will write me news of you, 
 if only two lines. I cannot help thinking of 
 you because you were so kind. 
 
 Another "fiUeul" thanked me most ap- 
 preciatively for some cigarettes and choco- 
 late I sent to him when the time came for 
 him to return to the front hnes: 
 
 Good Morning, Dear Marraine: 
 
 What a good surprise today ! I see you 
 are going to spoil your "fiUeul." I received 
 the wonderful package in good condition 
 and divided it with some of my comrades. 
 How grateful we all are ! But I cannot ex- 
 press myself well enough to tell you. 
 
 After 24 hours on the railroad and 110 
 kilometers on foot, we have arrived at a 
 little village not far from you. I tried to 
 see you but met the gendarme and not 
 having a permission was forced to return. 
 Enfin, one must submit without murmur. 
 Since it must be thus, one must resign one- 
 self to disappointment. I wanted to give 
 you a little present, a shell of our glorious 
 seventy-five which I have decorated. I am 
 sending it hoping you will be pleased. 
 
 We will be in the trenches eight days and 
 then released for eight days or for three or 
 
12 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 four months. How long the hours will seem ! 
 Do you know what gives me courage? My 
 little Marraine. I went to the war in the 
 first days of 1914 when there were no good 
 marraines to console and amuse us with 
 their kind letters of encouragement and 
 hope. No one dreamed then that they 
 would come to lighten the dreary solitude 
 of the trenches. And now who of us is not 
 happy in corresponding with one of you? 
 You help the task of the soldier more than 
 you realize. But there are few who when 
 wounded have a marraine for a nurse. I 
 wish all the blesses could be cared for by 
 a little mademoiselle marraine, but alas ! 
 what a futile wish ! To most nurses we are 
 but broken bodies. They do not trouble 
 themselves about that terrible malady, the 
 cafard. I think you made it your duty to 
 look happy even if you were not. I hope my 
 letter will find you in good health. My 
 health is perfect. "Messieurs les Boches" 
 must look out for themselves ! 
 
 I opened a little black-bordered note with 
 a sinking heart. It was from the young wife 
 of an artist who used to draw clever carica- 
 tures for me, and had since returned to the 
 firing-line. She wrote to tell me of his death. 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 13 
 
 "killed in action," such a brave little note 
 filled more with pride of being the widow 
 of a hero than of sorrow or bitterness at 
 having the dearest thing in her life snatched 
 away so ruthlessly. "One must pay for 
 the privilege of being the wife of a hero of 
 France. I will pay with my widowhood." 
 
 A dear old man with four children whom 
 he has not seen for fourteen months wrote 
 in a hand that tottered and spread all over 
 the page. He was at the hospital when I 
 first came and keeps on writing every now 
 and then from another hospital to thank 
 me all over again. I wish these poilus would 
 not be so grateful. Their appreciation makes 
 me feel guilty. There are so many things I 
 wanted to do for them, and there was so 
 little time. 
 
 Dear Little Infirmiere of Other Times: 
 It is going better with me although I 
 have a little feebleness in my left leg, and 
 no more of your frictions "in the direction 
 of the heart." The beds are not as good as 
 those in Auto Chir No. 7. I am in a little 
 
14 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 draught from the window and no one thinks 
 of putting a bed sock on my head. I have 
 received some more pictures from my wife 
 of the children but no one cares to see them. 
 You would be pleased to see that the boy 
 has grown taller than his older sisters now. 
 I am well taken care of but you see this 
 does not prevent me from thinking often 
 of your hospital. 
 
 I hear with pleasure that you have a 
 ward of your own now. How happy you 
 must be, alone and independent, no one to 
 scold you any more. 
 
 I begin to get up but must not leave the 
 ward. My back is not all well yet. When I 
 look at the end of the arm that is cut off, 
 I wonder what my children will say. Then 
 I remember what you told me about crippled 
 bodies not being half so bad as crippled 
 brains or hearts. I may go home soon, but 
 will not forget you. I pray you to accept 
 some cards of my native country and sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 Permit me. Mademoiselle, to thank you 
 for the courage and goodness and tender- 
 ness you have shown towards me and my 
 wounded friends. I thank you with all my 
 heart for coming such a long way to take 
 care of us. I shake your hand cordially and 
 cry loudly: *'Vive FAmerique!" 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 15 
 
 That night when the rumble of artillery- 
 seemed louder and the scratching of mice 
 in the paper ceiling over my bed alarmed 
 me even more than the guns, and the mat- 
 tress felt harder than usual, I could not 
 sleep for a long time, and so I thought 
 about the letters. You can find rose-colored 
 spectacles anywhere, they say, if you try- 
 hard enough. The blesses have found mine 
 for me, 
 
 A few months ago I was comfortably- 
 enjoying the cynical excitements and futile 
 pleasures of what I considered life. Since 
 then I have lived and worked and suffered 
 among people who had been at the front 
 so long that it was as commonplace to them 
 as if they were only in a little town in peace- 
 time, instead of in a very busy field-hos- 
 pital seven miles from the firing-line. 
 
 These letters make me realize that the 
 work I am doing, however small it may be 
 in comparison to the wholesale surrender 
 of lives once belonging to individual minds 
 
16 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 and hearts, is yet big enough to make me 
 forget my endless discomforts. War is less 
 exalting than the civilian realizes who takes 
 his three square meals a day, comfortable 
 house, and bombless nights of undisturbed 
 sleep for granted. Death is unimportant and 
 hard work makes one forget fear, but it is 
 harder to endure the little discomforts be- 
 cause they are always there to annoy when 
 one is tired — the perpetual mud and damp- 
 ness, the wind blowing down the pipes of 
 the inadequate stoves and putting out the 
 fire, the snow sifting in through cracks in 
 the paper windows, the unvarying supply 
 of potatoes, war-bread, and tinned food, 
 and, worst of all, no real baths. 
 
 The blesses make it all worth while and 
 chase away the "cafard," that slough of 
 despond when you feel you don't like to be 
 out there at all and yet would hate not to 
 be there. Luxuries seem contemptible when 
 men are dying. One cannot be homesick 
 when looking back is like seeing a view 
 
THE LETTER-BOX 17 
 
 through the wrong end of opera-glasses, so 
 small and insignificant. It seems unreal 
 back there with all the hating and pen- 
 and-ink fighting. Here, there is a wonderful 
 "camaraderie," a fine feeling that joins all 
 in a common cause, and makes up for the 
 many things that are taken away. There is 
 regeneration in knowing you can meet the 
 worst and survive. I am happier here than 
 I have ever been before because I am doing 
 something where history is being made 
 among people who have a contempt for 
 anything not the bravest. We are doing a 
 work into which no selfishness enters, and 
 in which there is no restless wondering 
 what to do next. 
 
 Among the waste of bones and flesh that 
 once were the physically fit of France, the 
 things which each individual gives up count 
 for little. Instead, there is a grim deter- 
 mination not to waste any more time with 
 death so near. I cannot understand how 
 this work would ever harden one. Pity and 
 
18 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 sacrifice must purify the whole nature. A 
 courage comes out of the crucible, more of 
 the soul than of the nerves, which lifts one 
 above the terror, doubt, and pain. After- 
 ward, when the great elation is over, one 
 must have developed and the future will 
 be better on account of it. ' 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AMERICAN CRUSADERS 
 
 AS soon as I realized that life in war- 
 -^ ^ time must be either danger and ad- 
 venture and active service, or safety and 
 tedium and a passive helping to "win the 
 war" at home, I made my choice and took 
 my opportunity when it came. If some 
 were giving their lives for the happiness 
 and safety of the others, I could not stay 
 behind and comfortably accept such a 
 sacrifice. When so many are doing big 
 things, I could not do little ones. I had to 
 go out with them and risk everything for 
 real service. If happiness and safety are 
 worth such a price of blood and seK-ab- 
 negation, I must not shirk, but pay it too, 
 instead of leaving the hard work to others 
 while I hide under some excuse and wait 
 for them to "come marching home." 
 
 19 
 
20 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 The crossing was uneventful as far as 
 submarine activity was concerned, but very 
 interesting as to passengers. The steamer 
 was crowded with people, many in uniform, 
 every one with a mission. Here was no 
 sluggish blood nor eyes blind to duty. There 
 was an exhilaration in being one of such a 
 company of brave people, some on diplo- 
 matic errands, three hundred ambulance 
 drivers for the Norton Harjes and American 
 Field Service, aviators for the Lafayette Es- 
 cadrille, canteen and Y. M. C. A. workers, 
 and our hospital unit of doctors, nurses, 
 and aides. 
 
 Dreading a domestic brass-band farewell, 
 I started off alone, having seen my family 
 on the train for their summer instead. I 
 was afraid that the good-by side of the 
 boat might make me weaken and lose heart, 
 so I left the waving crowd and found a 
 corner on the upper deck, facing the ocean 
 and unknown future that lay beyond it. 
 Here in the rain, I made a circle of dead 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 21 
 
 matches in a pathetic attempt to smoke 
 and be a man, until the ship had left the 
 harbor, and I had regained my courage 
 enough to join my friends. There were 
 other moments of self-doubt and depres- 
 sion, but they were easily overcome after 
 this first victory. There is a romantic ex- 
 citement and personal courage in being de- 
 tached from the e very-day life of home and 
 habit. The thrill of being a part of this 
 great war made me forget to be lonely or 
 afraid as we sped nearer and nearer the 
 danger zone. 
 
 "I didn't know they were taking chil- 
 dren over there." Looking around, I found 
 my corner had been discovered by one of 
 the ambulance boys. He was looking dis- 
 dainfully at the dead matches. Having 
 learned to smoke only a few months before, 
 he was feeling very superior and grown-up, 
 and it evidently hurt his pride to have me 
 starting off on his big adventure, too. I did 
 not reply to his taunt, so he went on: 
 
22 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 "Trying not to cry," I answered truth- 
 fully. 
 
 "You were silly to come," was his cold 
 comfort. "What good can you do.^^ You 
 should have stayed at home and married." 
 
 "I didn't want to. I couldn't have been 
 happy enjoying a selfish safety I hadn't 
 earned. It was more a feeling than a reason 
 that made me come." 
 
 "You don't look very happy now," he 
 remarked, as he lit a cigarette, preparing 
 to stay and probe the matter further. 
 
 "That's because I feel so useless and 
 stupid among all these capable-looking 
 people. But when we get over, I am sure 
 I can help. I am to begin in a supply-room." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I'm not sure, but I hope to work out of 
 it to a ward so I can wear a uniform." 
 
 "Ever been in a hospital?" 
 
 "Not very often." 
 
 "You didn't train in one?" 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 23 
 
 *'I helped in a baby clinic when they 
 were short-handed, and I learned to take 
 histories, temperatures. . . ." 
 
 "But what do you know about wounded 
 men?" 
 
 "I commenced the Red Cross home-nurs- 
 ing course, but it didn't have any wounded 
 in it, so I thought the best way to learn 
 would be in the midst of them." 
 
 "Come and watch the steerage. That'll 
 train you some for the men who come in 
 from the trenches." 
 
 There was another inexperienced but 
 enthusiastic girl, who like myself was to 
 start work in a supply-room. I will tell our 
 story so that others, who feel useless but 
 are anxious to do something that takes 
 more of themselves than the little war- 
 work games at home, may be inspired 
 and encouraged by our experience. Inci- 
 dentally, the demand for nurses was so great 
 that neither of us were put in a supply- 
 room. The other girl went to La Panne, I 
 
24 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 might add, and had a ward of her own 
 parallel to one managed by a trained nurse, 
 doing the same work and gaining much 
 praise from Doctor Depage and the ma- 
 tron. Our school motto proved truer than 
 we realized: "Not for our school but for 
 our lives we learn." The things we had to 
 learn this time were harder, but we were 
 older and more eager. 
 
 There was gun practice and boat drill, 
 but except for much staying up at night 
 looking for submarines and the fact that 
 life-preservers were much in evidence, the 
 life of the ship was as care-free as in peace- 
 times. The decks were dark, but always 
 gay with singing and the tinkling of uku- 
 leles and mandoUns. One former glee-club 
 star even played a tiny piano, undaunted 
 by the darkness. These concerts stopped 
 when the procession of blankets and pillows 
 warned us that those who fled from a sleep- 
 less night in stuffy staterooms, with all the 
 port-holes closed by order, were about to 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 25 
 
 try their luck under the stars. Staggering 
 under their burden, they stumble along 
 from one person to another, until finally, 
 after groping in every direction, putting 
 their hands in various eyes and mouths, 
 they succeed in finding a little place for 
 themselves, often remaining till six in the 
 morning, when they are ruthlessly aroused 
 by a torrent of water warning them too late 
 that the decks were being cleaned. Then 
 every one adjourns to the lounge or stairs, 
 "shooting crap" until breakfast is served. 
 
 We made a big adventure of it, and yet 
 underneath our frivolous holiday exterior 
 was the earnest hope that the adventure 
 would ripen into a bigger service. If we 
 laughed and danced and sang too much, 
 it was to hide a little nervousness as to the 
 immediate future, and an embarrassed self- 
 consciousness that we were doing something 
 hard and real in leaving our comfortable 
 homes and going into a foreign, war-wrecked 
 country. We were most of us quite young. 
 
26 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 Those who are young enough and free 
 enough to go are the lucky ones and, in 
 spite of danger and discomfort, they are 
 happier than those who must stay behind 
 with the rumors and "Extras!" changes, 
 regrets, and good-bys. We were to forget 
 our troubles in the immensity of universal 
 suffering and find out the real facts. They 
 would have to believe what they were 
 told, and wonder and worry. 
 
 In the danger zone I slept on deck in a 
 heavy coat thrust upon me by an ambu- 
 lance boy, "so as not to die of exposure in 
 a life-boat.'* I filled the large pockets with 
 crackers, fruit, hairpins, and pictures of 
 my family. Ever since that time, when I 
 have been sent out alone to do anything 
 hard, I have carried the feeling of taking 
 
 somebody else with me. K even had 
 
 a book so she would not be bored if we 
 had to wait many days before being picked 
 up by another steamer. 
 
 I liked to lie where I could watch the 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 27 
 
 water, so peaceful and harmless-looking. 
 The phosphorus was well worth the trip, 
 for with the lights out, it sparkled and 
 danced along beside the boat in intensified 
 splendor. The fresh air revived me after 
 the month of June which I had spent in 
 New York trying to be useful selling bonds, 
 taking the census, rolling bandages, and 
 knitting. The stars were reassuring, for they 
 went on holding the world in place undis- 
 turbed. It gave me a feeling of security and 
 endurance to look up at them and know 
 that they would go on and on through 
 wars and men's lives without change. It 
 makes one believe that some power guides 
 the ship that speeds through the fogs with- 
 out a sound of warning and crashes through 
 the blackest nights without a light. No 
 matter what wars and men may destroy, 
 the world goes on held in place by a stronger 
 force than they. 
 
 I have often since longed for my little 
 stateroom with trunks and bags piled in 
 
28 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 front of bed and closets, making it difiBcult 
 to move or dress, the carpet, seldom swept, 
 covered with crumbs and orange-peel, and 
 the baskets of fruit outside the door at- 
 tracting flies and making people cross. It 
 belonged to the first part of my real life, 
 and I try to keep the sense of humor that 
 made it seem so amusing instead of un- 
 comfortably messy. 
 
 "Come and have a look at France!" 
 called one of the aviators, as he hurried 
 from the dining-salon. 
 
 We watched the waves our steamer made 
 as they overflowed the banks of the river 
 that took us to Bordeaux. Large swells 
 swept up into fields of grain or pastures 
 where cows were startled in their grazing 
 and had to run away. Little boats at anchor 
 were so disturbed that they capsized. The 
 green banks and little farmhouses made it 
 sad to realize that war had devastated just 
 such peaceful scenes. Such a country was 
 too beautiful to be ruthlessly destroyed. 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 29 
 
 Next day we took a ride in a seagoing 
 hack driven by a fat old man who fell asleep 
 persistently whenever we stopped to look 
 at anything, and had to be waked up in 
 French. What I remembered of the language 
 from my governess and school-days was 
 just enough to make me misunderstood. 
 My first luncheon was not a success, as I 
 forgot what little I knew in the excitement, 
 and asked for preserved apple-trees instead 
 of plums, and was given ice-cream when I 
 asked for a glass of water. When the waiter 
 explained that he was not French but 
 Spanish, I understood spinach and said: 
 "Non, je voudrais petits pois." 
 
 The ride through the city was depressing. 
 So many closed houses, crape veils, and 
 crippled soldiers ! Women were running the 
 tram-cars, and a few children in black 
 roamed through the quiet streets. Two art 
 museums were open and contained many 
 fine works brought from the Louvre for 
 safety. On the whole, the art was rather 
 
30 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 morbid and unhealthy. I liked the "pay- 
 sages" best. They seemed to tell those who 
 doubted that the faith that brooded over 
 the farm-lands and countryside would not 
 be destroyed by the apathy of the city. 
 The cathedral was a rehgion in itseK. The 
 spirit of France is kept alive by the quiet, 
 humble people who burn candles at the 
 altars of the big cathedrals and cover the 
 shrines in the little country churches with 
 photographs and prayers of "Protect my 
 son." 
 
 On the way to Paris we passed through 
 soft, peaceful country with long, graceful 
 lines of Lombardy poplars and chateaux 
 high on wooded hills with wreaths of red- 
 roofed cottages around them, like Edmund 
 DuLac's fairy-tale illustrations. Women 
 were working in the fields. Sometimes we 
 passed gangs of German prisoners at work, 
 the only discordant note in the landscape. 
 
 Late in the evening we arrived in Paris. 
 The head of our unit went to the seashore, 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 31 
 
 evidently no longer responsible for us, in 
 spite of having assured our families that 
 we would be chaperoned most carefully in 
 Paris. The understanding had been that 
 we would remain there only three or four 
 days while the head doctor inspected sev- 
 eral French hospitals which were at our 
 disposal in order to make the best choice. 
 
 K 's brother met her and took us to 
 
 his hotel, where we stayed three months 
 waiting for further orders, unable to sign 
 up with any other hospital, as we were 
 enrolled with this unit for six months. On 
 our way over, the American Red Cross had 
 taken charge of all American units, and 
 the French Service de Sante had nothing 
 to offer us as near the front as we had 
 hoped. 
 
 In the meantime, we found work, some 
 of us at surgical dressings, others at the 
 Y. M. C. A., and the rest in a canteen at 
 the Gare de I'Est, where we supplied the 
 crowds of soldiers coming and going with 
 
32 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 large, full-coursed meals. It was a turmoil 
 of constant demands, everything to be 
 done at once amid much shouting in French 
 for more soup, bread, or plates, much burn- 
 ing of fingers when the soup was ladled 
 out into cups, and a weary arm that went 
 on and on cutting large chunks of heavy 
 war-bread. I was in charge of the first sec- 
 tion and had to supply all the soup, hors 
 d'oeuvres, bread and butter, as well as mak- 
 ing change in "sous." It was like a Billy 
 Sunday cafeteria, only not so orderly and 
 clean. 
 
 I was glad to have some work which 
 kept me too busy to think and made me 
 feel useful, and preferred it to surgical 
 dressings, where each one had to sign her 
 name at the end of the day with the number 
 of compresses or bandages she had done. 
 The strain of sitting still so long and the 
 hurried feeling were too much for me to 
 stand day after day. The canteen was better, 
 though it was a disappointment to be so 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS S3 
 
 far from the front where the only signs of 
 war were high prices, poor bread, and the 
 hum of aeroplanes overhead like great 
 bumblebees. 
 
 In the summer of 1917 the Paris air- 
 raids were of little importance. We talked 
 or slept through several without realizing. 
 Seemingly cheerful people strolled uncon- 
 cernedly up and down the boulevards, or 
 sat at the little tables along the sidewalk. 
 Shops were open, even those selling expen- 
 sive gowns and jewelry. Many of them were 
 closed at the beginning of the war, but re- 
 opened when the proprietor returned with 
 his wounded stripe. Some of the fashion- 
 able hotels on the Champs-Elysees had been 
 turned into hospitals, but others were doing 
 business, the work being carried on by 
 old men, women, Httle boys, or wounded 
 soldiers who were no longer able to go to 
 the front. These "reformes" were usually 
 covered with medals as a compensation for 
 the loss of a leg or arm. Vaudevilles, 
 
34 POSPITAL ; HEROES 
 
 theatres, and operas were patronized by 
 men on leave. It was not unusual to see the 
 performers wearing the red ribbon of the 
 Legion of Honor. The elevator-man at 
 Morgan Harjes' had so many medals I hated 
 to trouble him. Outside of Cartier's stood 
 another war hero with a new face. 
 
 A civilian was a rare sight. The few one 
 did see were old men or foreign represen- 
 tatives from Spain, South America, and 
 Switzerland. Everywhere one saw the quiet 
 efficiency and fitness of the English and 
 American khaki, the elaborate glamour of 
 the French and Italian uniforms, with here 
 and there a Russian, Serbian, Belgian, Jap- 
 anese, or Indian with his voluminous head- 
 dress piled high above his dark face and 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 The Frenchwomen were usually in mourn- 
 ing and went out rarely, but now and then 
 one noticed one of the better class, sensi- 
 tive and piquant, daintily dressed in wel- 
 come contrast to the sober uniformity or 
 
AMERICAN CRUSADERS 35 
 
 mistaken elaborateness of the Englishwom- 
 en, with their pale-colored tulle scarfs and 
 dark woolly suits. The Englishwomen are 
 at their best in khaki, I have seen them 
 repairing their own machines, undisturbed 
 by snow, cold, or mud, quick and cheerful 
 like boys. 
 
 There were no cabarets, no music in the 
 hotels or dancing, except in places which 
 were frequently raided. One could have hot 
 water only at week-ends. Monday and Tues- 
 day were meatless, Tuesday and Wednesday 
 were without pastry and candy. Restaurants 
 closed at half past nine. The whole city was 
 dark at that hour, and there was nothing to 
 be had, not even a taxi. One was expected 
 to economize light and go to bed early. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 WITH THE THIRD FRENCH 
 ARMY 
 
 TTJST as I was resigning myself to the 
 •^ railroad canteen for the duration of the 
 war, one of my former school friends ar- 
 rived in Paris on her way home for a rest 
 after a year of nursing. She thrilled me 
 with tales of her work in a French field- 
 hospital seven miles from the German 
 lines. I was reassured to find she still had 
 her hair, teeth, and health in spite of the 
 terrible stories that had been told at home 
 
 to discourage me from coming. D was 
 
 just the same after her hard work; if any- 
 thing, more enthusiastic and alive. She 
 arranged a meeting for me with the head 
 of her Equipe, who by some lucky chance 
 was in Paris that day. Arrangements were 
 made for me to go to this hospital, as help 
 
WITH THE THmD FRENCH ARMY 37 
 
 was needed for the hard winter ahead, and 
 even an untrained person could be of ser- 
 vice. 
 
 It was not dijfficult to leave the other 
 unit which had brought me over. In fact, 
 I was released with pleasure. I think the 
 head doctor would have liked to have been 
 released from his own unit after such a 
 long period of waiting, tangled up in red 
 tape. Then began the task of collecting all 
 the papers required for admission to the 
 war zone, and several shopping tours for 
 uniforms and heavy winter clothes. 
 
 At last, armed with every sort of paper, 
 I set off from the Gare du Nord wearing 
 the military "tricolore" and an identity 
 bracelet. While in Paris, I had been obliged 
 to have two papers, one which permitted 
 me to stay in France provided I did not 
 change my residence, called a "permis de 
 sejour," and the other my "immatricula- 
 tion," a leaf from the register of all for- 
 eigners. To these I had now added an Amer- 
 
38 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ican Red Cross card, a military nurse's 
 *'livret" (a sort of diploraa to be signed 
 at each place where service was done), a 
 "carte d'identite," a "carnet d'etranger" 
 which allowed a foreigner to enter the war 
 zone, and a "bon de transport" so I and 
 my baggage could travel free, like the sol- 
 diers. Besides these, I had to have my 
 American passport ever ready to show. To 
 four of these were attached my photograph. 
 I could not forget myself very easily, and 
 would have been in great difficulties if I 
 forgot any of my literature. Later, when 
 on leave, I had another paper to show the 
 railway authorities and the "mairie," an 
 officially signed and sealed "permission." 
 I have heard American aviators boast of 
 leaving their French camp without per- 
 mission, and "getting away with it" by 
 waving chewing-gum coupons as they passed 
 the guards. Of course, if caught, they always 
 said they "did not understand," but I un- 
 derstood so well that I was quite intimidated 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 39 
 
 and trembled every time, worrying about 
 my papers being "en regie." 
 
 Two other "infirmieres" went with me. 
 We left the train at Compiegne, where we 
 were met by our "directrice" and one of 
 the doctors, who had come by "camion" 
 for suppHes, and would take us and our 
 baggage the rest of the way. We had lunch 
 in the Palace Hotel, opposite the chateau 
 which was then used as Etat-Major for the 
 French General Staff. I little expected that 
 I would come here to live in February, 
 while taking a course at the Carrel and 
 Ambrine Hospitals, and have what the 
 Tommy calls a "near squeak," my room 
 losing its wall during an air-raid the night 
 after I left for Paris. Nor did I dream that 
 in April I would be sleeping in the deep 
 caves under that chateau for protection 
 during the bombing of the first German 
 drive. 
 
 The "camion," a large, uncomfortable 
 motor supply-truck, rumbled over the road 
 
40 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 carrying us ever nearer the front. The Aisne 
 is a flat country of plains and river valleys. 
 In pre-war days there had been many beau- 
 tiful forests, but most of these had been 
 destroyed. The Germans were driven out 
 in March, 1917, and in their retreat made 
 the land even flatter by shelling and burn- 
 ing towns and systematically cutting down 
 whole orchards. Farm implements were 
 broken, cattle and horses killed. So com- 
 plete was the work of destruction that 
 nothing remained but a levelled landscape 
 of roofless and windowless houses that 
 looked like fempty boxes, to some of which 
 the poor peasants had returned and were 
 living in the ruins. At one place there had 
 been a large factory, but only a few pieces 
 of broken machinery remained, and near 
 by were a few graves, with crosses of wood 
 which gave the name, date, and rank of 
 some dead soldiers. These graves seemed 
 such peaceful spaces in the battle-scarred 
 land and death such a grateful sleep for 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 41 
 
 tired men that I did not feel as much pity 
 for them as I do for those safe at home 
 who shirked their duty and were deaf to 
 the call. They are left so far behind with 
 their flabby souls and sluggish blood living 
 selfish lives, while they let others die for 
 their safety. 
 
 There had been little attempt at rebuild- 
 ing, except rude huts of wood or tile. The 
 chimney-stacks and kitchen ranges alone 
 seem to have resisted the fire, as if, in de- 
 fiance of war, they wish to show that the 
 French home and "cuisine" will endure 
 forever. We passed through a part that 
 once had been No Man's Land. It looked 
 as dreary as it sounds, a desert of tumbled 
 stone, barbed wire, trenches, and dugouts, 
 with here and there a sign to show where 
 once had been a village. Some sullen Ger- 
 man prisoners were working on the road 
 as we went through this vast land of mud, 
 treeless, houseless, pitted with shell-holes. 
 
 I was glad to leave this ruined country- 
 
42 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 side and arrive at the small village in which 
 our hospital was located. This place had 
 not suffered so badly, although its church, 
 of the twelfth century, was only a pile of 
 stones. Cugny had three little stores and 
 several houses in which troops were billeted 
 as they passed to and from the firing-line. 
 The streets were always lined with rows of 
 "camions." There were hedgerows along 
 the roadside and quaint little farmhouses 
 in the surrounding country. I was surprised 
 to see children plajang about the roads as 
 unconsciously as if they had not been with- 
 in sound of the guns. The French peasants 
 continue to live in their homes at any risk. 
 If they are shelled one day, they hide in 
 cellars or run away to a safer place, but 
 always return. It is strange that there is 
 no word for home in the French language 
 when they are so home-loving, while the 
 Germans who talk incessantly of their 
 Vaterland are apparently quite as happy 
 in any other country. 
 
d 
 
WITH THE THmD FRENCH ARMY 43 
 
 The inhabitants always saluted our "tri- 
 colore." Some of them had remained through 
 the German occupation of the village. They 
 told dreadful stories, and assured us that 
 most of the devastation was done on pur- 
 pose so that nothing of value would be 
 left for the Allies. Many of them were crazed 
 with shock and sorrow, and begged us piti- 
 fully to find their daughters for them. The 
 place was noticeably empty of young men 
 and women. 
 
 When the refugees came pouring into the 
 "Gare du Nord" during the first German 
 drive, months later, I recognized some of 
 the people from Cugny. There were can- 
 teens and even cots ready for them, and 
 they sank down wearily with a dazed look 
 in their sad faces. Train after train came 
 in with the same huddled forms, each with 
 a bundle of household goods, or treasures 
 done up in a towel or pillow-slip. When 
 they recognized me they nodded sadly: 
 
 "Yes, we had to leave. We dared not 
 
44 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 stay a second time. We knew too well what 
 would happen." 
 
 Our hospital was situated between the 
 main road to the front lines and a railroad 
 with an ammunition centre on either side, 
 which means we were often under bombard- 
 ment, especially when the Taube observers 
 caught sight of troops marching to the 
 front. From a little hill near us we could 
 see, far away over the plains, the spire of 
 the cathedral of St. Quentin, then in Ger- 
 man hands, but spared, at least until they 
 were forced to retreat. It seemed miraculous 
 that it should be left while the rest of the 
 country looked as if a giant mowing- 
 machine had run across it. 
 
 Some English canteen women, also at- 
 tached to the Third French Army and 
 stationed near us, gave concerts and va- 
 riety shows. They gathered the talented 
 ones from the passing troops, and it was 
 wonderful to see so many able-bodied men 
 after the dreary rows of hospital beds con- 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 45 
 
 taining shreds of what were once the best 
 men of France. After my first few weeks 
 in the ward, I began to fear that there 
 would be no more men left to fight. But 
 here, crowded together in the "Theatre 
 du Front" were so many it made me want 
 to look at them all the time, although the 
 performance was excellent. The first few 
 rows were reserved for officers and doctors, 
 but the rest of the seats were full of poilus; 
 they stood even in the aisles and doorway. 
 The talent was of the best. There were re- 
 citers, humorists, a tenor, and a violinist 
 who had left the Gymnase, Porte St. Mar- 
 tin, and Cigale to fight for their country. 
 
 A few nights after my arrival we enter- 
 tained some of these canteen women at 
 dinner. Afterward we went on a tour of 
 the hospital, which was my first chance to 
 see it. I had been too busy to find time for 
 sightseeing. 
 
 There are several different equipes, but 
 the politics are so involved that I am satis- 
 
46 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 fied with the knowledge that the hospital 
 is divided into two main parts: one for 
 the wounded and one for the sick. "Blesses" 
 and "Malades" they are marked at the en- 
 trance. There are many doctors to do the 
 dressings and a few surgeons to operate, 
 each with a staff of orderlies and French 
 "ministerielles," women taken from other 
 employments, like the mobilized men, and 
 paid by the government. The French had 
 few trained nurses at the beginning of the 
 war, their hospitals having been managed 
 by nuns. 
 
 Our equipe, forty women of all ages, 
 characters, and nationalities, was organized 
 and is managed by an American woman. 
 Fortunately, we are never all together in our 
 barracks at one time, some being away on 
 leave or recuperating. Half of us are Amer- 
 ican, ranging from nineteen to fifty years 
 of age, some unmarried, some married to 
 Americans, some to French titles, and one 
 deaconess. The other half are English mih- 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 47 
 
 tary nurses and V. A. D.'s, a French 
 countess, and a French-Russian girl with 
 strong revolutionary ideas. Our work is 
 in the wards, receiving-room, assisting the 
 doctors in the X-ray and laboratory de- 
 partments, and at the dressings and opera- 
 tions, and superintending the work of the 
 orderlies in the sterilizing-room. 
 
 To the large staff of doctors are added a 
 group of medical students, who are sent 
 here to complete their training, which was 
 interrupted by the war, and an "Equipe 
 de Renfort" sent to help during attacks 
 when the work is heavy. I have sometimes 
 felt that I had more "majors" than blesses, 
 as these new doctors are constantly visiting 
 the wards in search of "the arm that came 
 in this morning," or "the head of last 
 night." As there are so many heads and 
 arms and every kind of wound coming in 
 all the time, it is difficult to find each doc- 
 tor's special case for him. I soon acquired 
 a habit of greeting any casual visitor with 
 
48 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 pad and pencil ready for orders, never sure 
 who might be a new doctor. The medical 
 students were another trial, as they would 
 crowd around a bed while the surgeon lec- 
 tured to them, keeping the blesse exposed 
 in the coldest weather, and worrying him 
 by discussing his case freely. 
 
 The hospital is a town of its own, with 
 a railroad-station from which the blesses 
 are sent to the interior as soon as they can 
 travel to make room for others who are 
 constantly arriving from, the trenches. Rows 
 and rows of sheds stretch away on every 
 side, connected by plank walks. The cor- 
 ridors have floors of earth, and suggest 
 subterranean caves or catacombs, as they 
 are dark at night. There are twelve wards, 
 wooden huts, connecting the corridor on 
 each side. Each has room for forty-six or 
 fifty beds. The officers have a ward of their 
 own, and the Arabs and German prisoners 
 are isolated. 
 
 The installation is quite remarkable con- 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 49 
 
 sidering the inaccessibility of our position, 
 and the chance of the hospital being moved 
 at any time to follow the army. There is 
 a large receiving-room or "triage," heated 
 by steam-pipes and stoves, an X-ray or 
 "radio" with motor-cars attached carrying 
 the dynamo for this apparatus and supply- 
 ing electricity for the whole hospital, also 
 a sterilizing and operating room, and two 
 "salles de pansements" for the dressings 
 not done in the wards. Supplies sent by the 
 "Service de Sante" and American Red 
 Cross are kept in another wooden hut. 
 There are offices for the two medecin-chefs, 
 a pharmacy, laboratory, and "gestion," 
 where the administrative work is carried 
 on by militarized priests and their assis- 
 tants. 
 
 At the end of each ward are two little 
 rooms, one used as kitchen by the orderlies, 
 where the head, a corporal, has his desk 
 and attends to the charts, special diets, and 
 keeps the other little room, used by the 
 
50 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 "infirmiere," supplied with material for 
 the dressings, medicines, blankets, and 
 linen. He sits at his desk (usually writing 
 letters !) and superintends the work of the 
 two orderlies who are supposed to keep 
 the ward clean, sweeping and washing the 
 floor twice a day, wait on the blesses, and 
 serve the meals. 
 
 Most of the wounds are of such a nature 
 that the blesses are put on "petit regime," 
 which means only liquid food, usually "po- 
 tions" from the pharmacy — "calmante," 
 "todd," or "vin de quinquina," to be taken 
 every two hours or a bottle finished in a day. 
 The two meals from the hospital-kitchen 
 and the breakfast coffee and chunk of bread 
 are not enough for those who need nourish- 
 ment, so I turned part of my little room 
 into a kitchen where I made chocolate 
 every day at two o'clock, which I gave with 
 a bit of bread to dip into it. 
 
 The orderlies bring cold tea, coffee, and 
 various mixtures called "tisane," "tilleul," 
 
WITH THE THmD FRENCH ARMY 51 
 
 and "limonade," which I supplement with 
 egg-nogs and milk from a near-by farm. 
 I even squeeze the juice from jam-jars into 
 water to make a variety of cool drinks for 
 the feverish. The little alcohol-lamp is con- 
 stantly burning either for cooking, boil- 
 ing syringes and needles, or just heating 
 water for hot-water bags, as it takes too 
 much time to wait for the orderlies to get 
 it. No one is supposed to enter this little 
 room without my permission, and yet I 
 noticed the 95 per cent alcohol disappear- 
 ing rapidly and an empty bottle was found 
 under one of the beds. 
 
 I came willing to do anything, but was 
 relieved to find orderlies and even a few 
 maids to help with the washing and bed- 
 making. My training began under an ener- 
 getic American woman who had a ward 
 of forty-eight beds, and was temporarily 
 in charge of the emergency ward as well 
 until that "infirmiere" returned from "per- 
 mission," Fortunately, there were only 
 
52 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 twelve cases in the emergency ward, and the 
 wards were opposite each other. There 
 were three orderhes and a maid in each, 
 but we were hurriedly busy every minute. 
 I started the first day with temperatures 
 and pulses, and was grateful to the baby 
 clinic for the only training I had ever 
 had. 
 
 It was the first time I had even seen a 
 hospital ward, except once when I had 
 gone to visit a friend who was recovering 
 from an operation for appendicitis, and I 
 got into the accident ward by mistake. The 
 sight had frightened me so much that I 
 fairly ran through. This time, however, I 
 could not run. There was so much work to 
 be done and so many things for me to 
 learn that I had no time to be upset. When 
 I saw how cheerful they all were, reading 
 or writing, talking, or playing games with 
 each other, they reminded me of the little 
 crippled children I used to teach on a boat 
 in the East River in the winter or take for 
 
WITH THE THIRD FRENCH ARMY 53 
 
 rides to the seashore in the summer, all 
 hurt and disabled together. Even those 
 with their faces bandaged smiled "Bon 
 jour" with their eyes. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE BLESSES 
 
 "rpHERMOMETERS ! Always a ther- 
 ■^ mometer!" the blesses groaned as 
 I started my afternoon round. In the morn- 
 ing, before they were thoroughly awake, 
 it did not bore them so much. But by after- 
 noon, when those who could get up were 
 strolling about or trying out their new 
 crutches, and the rest were playing cards 
 or the "jeu des dames," a game something 
 like our checkers, all of them were feeling 
 too well to see the necessity of a ther- 
 mometer. However, it was a military rule 
 that the charts for temperatures and pulses 
 should be complete, with the dressing or 
 operation marked as well. 
 
 It is quite a difficult task to bring each 
 one back to his bed at four o'clock in the 
 
 afternoon, connecting each man with his 
 
 54 
 
THE BLESSES 55 
 
 chart, and not skipping any one. There 
 are usually guests and much talking and 
 confusion. The "phono" is going like mad, 
 playing march after march, the favorite 
 music of the poilu. None of the pulses beat 
 in time with the music, so I have to count 
 out loud. But if they see I am rushed with 
 new arrivals, operated cases demanding 
 much attention, and various interruptions, 
 they hurry back to their places so I will not 
 be late. They like to tease, but never hurt 
 or exasperate, and realize I must finish 
 before the doctors' visits and the "soupe," 
 the universal word for anything to eat, just 
 as "pinard" means wine to them. 
 
 Some of the names were so hard for me 
 to pronounce, and there were several with 
 the same one, that to simplify matters we 
 made up nicknames. It was always a relief 
 to reach the bed of "Le Boxeur," for a 
 wound in his left leg kept him from wan- 
 dering away. He also had both hands band- 
 aged; one was so mangled we were in doubt 
 
56 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 about saving it. I have to take his pulse in 
 his forehead, and he hkes to delay me by 
 chewing to confuse the count. He has to 
 be fed and is quite helpless, and yet can 
 always joke about something. I hardly 
 know whether to laugh or cry when he pre- 
 tends to box with his big bandaged hands. 
 
 "Camouflage" was next to him, with 
 white bandages across his face, making him 
 look a part of the sheet. He was a tall "mi- 
 trailleur," and showed me a photograph of 
 his pretty fiancee in her Alsatian costume. 
 
 "Tell me. Mademoiselle Marraine," he 
 would always say anxiously, "do you think 
 she will care for me when I return, a poor 
 mutile with a changed face? She always 
 told me how handsome I was, so much more 
 so than all the other men. Maybe she will 
 marry Jean after all, when she sees what 
 they have done to my face, those 'sales 
 Boches' and these doctors. la, la, what 
 a terrible war ! " 
 
 Before I had learned all their names and 
 
THE BLESSES 57 
 
 wounds, I always had to admire their photo- 
 graphs. As soon as a man is brought into 
 the ward, and has recovered sufficiently 
 from his operation, he begins fumbling in 
 his "musette," or if it has not been brought 
 in yet, begs the orderly to hurry and find 
 his bag of treasures, so he can "show Made- 
 moiselle" his wife or fiancee or children. I 
 always worry as to how these wasted bodies 
 and amputated men will be received when 
 they go home. 
 
 "I do not need a marraine, for I have a 
 fiancee," said Davesne, limping along on 
 crutches. "See how fast I can go now. Will 
 you speak to me if you see me selling news- 
 papers in the streets in New York.^*" He is 
 six feet tall and very clever, and I hope 
 for a better future for him, and yet I cannot 
 help wondering what he will do, as I watch 
 the empty pajama leg swinging from his 
 stump. They all want to come to America 
 after the war. I do hope some one will find 
 work for them. 
 
58 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 "Mademoiselle, you are a thief," called 
 "Rigolo" when I had progressed several 
 beds beyond him. "I accuse you of stealing 
 four sous !" 
 
 This was a never-failing source of merri- 
 ment. When I am not noticing, some one 
 will put a joke in my pocket. As the doc- 
 tors' visits come right afterward, there is 
 much stifled amusement when I put my 
 hand in my pocket to find my pad and 
 pencil to take orders, and pull out a cham- 
 pagne cork or a pipe. Every one claims it 
 as his own, and I am called a thief by many 
 ferocious men with mustaches bristling in 
 feigned wrath. 
 
 "Where is 'Le Moqueur ' ?" I asked, look- 
 ing about for a handsome boy of nineteen, 
 who had come in with a shoulder wound 
 which did not depress him in the least. He 
 was almost too gay, teasing everybody all 
 the time, and usually getting into trouble. 
 
 "There he is ! See, beside the stove ! He 
 is trying to make the thermometer go up." 
 
THE BLESSES 59 
 
 I rescued it just in time, threatening to 
 give him one for a whole hour as punish- 
 ment. They were so expensive and easily 
 broken. I was often the guilty one when 
 I started off on a cold morning with hands 
 so numb the thermometer would slip 
 through as I was shaking it down. But 
 "Monsieur le Thermometre" had the worst 
 score of all. Every time I gave him one, I 
 said a mental good-by, for he invariably 
 found a new way of breaking them. How- 
 ever, he was so eager to help me with my 
 work that I could not be angry. He never 
 tired of rolling cotton for the dressing-car- 
 riage, or sharpening pencils, though his leg 
 was shot in several places. Each time he 
 went to the "radio," a new piece of shell 
 was discovered, necessitating another opera- 
 tion. 
 
 "Too much stomach," said "Soixante," 
 who was trying to learn English from a 
 book I had given him. He had been run 
 over by a motor-truck, and worried more 
 
60 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 about himself than any of those wounded 
 in battle. His temperature was a matter 
 of grave importance to him. He had a pulse 
 of sixty for several days, and when I found 
 it upset him for the whole day to have 
 more or less than "soixante," I would mark 
 it to please him whether it was fifty-eight 
 or sixty-two, as he was not serious enough 
 to matter, and yet it influenced his whole 
 attitude toward life if he could see a straight 
 line running across his chart. He had a 
 violent relapse when, in my absence, some 
 one marked sixty-four, and almost cried 
 with joy when I returned and somewhat 
 guiltily wrote: "Soixante." 
 
 Many of them guess and bet what their 
 temperatures will be. If they have a fever 
 and go up very high, I try to finesse and 
 put their chart where they cannot see it, 
 but the doctor usually spoils my plan by 
 waving his arms excitedly, saying: "Oh, it 
 goes up !" 
 
 The unhappy mend slowly, and so I 
 
THE BLESSES 61 
 
 try to find out the special worries. They 
 are more than mangled bodies to be shud- 
 dered at, quickly cared for, and passed hur- 
 riedly by. Each day men are brought in 
 who have kept the enemy back and saved 
 those behind the lines. After such an effort, 
 what does it matter how dirty or querulous 
 they may be ? I cannot do enough for them, 
 and I try to make a little time as I work 
 in order to know each one separately with- 
 out being partial, and find out their special 
 worries and sorrows. I like to take care of 
 them as individuals, not as cases to be 
 tended professionally and then left to 
 brood. 
 
 "What is the great 'Samson' crying 
 about .'^" I whispered as I approached the 
 largest man in the room, who had been 
 there a long time with an abdominal wound 
 which mended slowly. He was often hys- 
 terical and I had caught him several times 
 tearing open his dressings, to scratch the 
 wound. 
 
62 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 "He has received no word from his 
 parents for over a month,'* the man in the 
 next bed explained. 
 
 I told him neither had I and I was so 
 much farther away from my home, but one 
 must be brave. He paid no attention until, 
 remembering he had eaten no lunch, I 
 made him some hot chocolate, his favorite 
 delicacy. Even this he refused until I calmly 
 fed him with a spoon. This made the others 
 laugh, and soon he rallied and took the 
 cup himself. 
 
 We see the morale of the army at a time 
 when it is unfair to judge. Men come in 
 delirious or hysterical, and they do not 
 know what they are saying. Pain makes 
 them say things they would not even think 
 of before they were brought to us down and 
 out. I have heard them swear at the doctors 
 during dressings, call the orderlies and 
 ambulance-drivers "embusques," and say 
 it is only a "fad" for Americans to come to 
 France, that they will not really fight. But 
 
THE BLESSES 63 
 
 the fact remains that whether these men 
 wanted to or not, they have been heroes 
 in the midst of all the horror and danger 
 for four years, fighting for the safety of 
 those behind the lines, and I cannot help 
 feeling grateful to them, so grateful that 
 it obliterates every other feeling. They 
 have been superior to the rest of us, no 
 matter how low they may sink afterward 
 from the pain of their wounds or home- 
 sickness. In a few weeks these same men 
 will be mending a hole in my sweater or 
 working away at a silk table-cover which 
 they weave on a little frame to give to me 
 or sell when they return to the city. I took 
 some cases of lost families to a special de- 
 partment of the Red Cross, and was glad 
 to hear from the men later that their lost 
 had been found. 
 
 "Monsieur le Crocodile" is always cry- 
 ing about imaginary hurts. One day, it is 
 because they have hurt him so much at 
 his dressing, that he must cry, "O, la, la. 
 
64 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 how my leg hurts!" for hours afterward 
 until one hopes they will not dress his leg 
 again for some time. Again, he will be in 
 tears because, "Look, Mademoiselle, there 
 are two whole days since my dressing has 
 been changed. O, la, la, what a miserable 
 life ! I am not being well cared for. They 
 forget me." 
 
 However, he is easily pacified with a 
 pair of brand-new bed-socks "sent all the 
 way from America for 'M. le Crocodile,' 
 because his crying was heard far away." 
 But, poor man, his home is in German 
 hands. 
 
 "You have been smoking too much," I 
 announce as I come to "le Bebe." 
 
 "Please do not scold, * Petite Maman,'" 
 the youngest begs, "but bring me a hot- 
 water bag, for I am so cold." Hot-water 
 bags were very scarce. I had only five rub- 
 ber ones for my forty-eight beds, and a 
 few stone ones which the blesses called 
 "soixante-quinze" because they were shaped 
 
THE BLESSES 65 
 
 like the shells for their famous cannon. 
 The others seemed to understand that "le 
 Bebe" was a spoiled child and therefore 
 privileged to receive more attention. I tried 
 not to be partial, but he was so young and 
 was suffering so much from two shattered 
 legs which the doctor was trying to save 
 by various experiments of Carrel treat- 
 ments and plaster casts and steel plates 
 screwed to the remaining bone. Finally, 
 fearing sepsis, he had returned to the Carrel 
 system of irrigating the wound, but "le 
 Bebe" was so sensitive that the injections 
 every two hours made him cry out with 
 pain. 
 
 "Toto" pretended to be asleep, hoping 
 I would pass by and not disturb him. He 
 got his name the first day when I asked 
 him for "the pulse," and evidently used 
 the French slang for "cootey." After search- 
 ing for several minutes while I waited, 
 much mystified, he had said: "I cannot find 
 the 'toto,' Mademoiselle." The others in- 
 
66 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 sisted he had one, so the name clung to him. 
 Fearing to make another mistake, I asked 
 for "the hand" next time. Whereupon he 
 shook my hand solemnly, saying: "Com- 
 rades, in spite of everything." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, will you be so good as 
 to ask 'Monsieur le Major' when he comes 
 if I may have a cachet of aspirin? My 
 head aches." This formal request came from 
 "I'Amoureux," so called because he had 
 wakened from his operation ardently mak- 
 ing love. It was so unusual for ether to affect 
 any one in so amusing a manner, that he 
 entertained the whole ward, to his great 
 embarrassment later, for he was a most 
 formal, retiring young man who spent 
 most of his time quietly puzzling over an 
 old edition of the New York Times. Every 
 one begged for the laughing ether, but no 
 one else had such a humorous after-effect. 
 Too often they came back from an opera- 
 tion in tears. 
 
 "Don't forget the 'ventouses' this eve- 
 
THE BLESSES 67 
 
 ning, please," said "Grandpere." He always 
 wants cupping, whether the doctor has 
 ordered the treatment or not. He is such 
 an old man, I humor him when I have 
 time, but he is so thin that not many of 
 the little glasses will stay. We make quite 
 a game of it, even the orderlies clump around 
 the bed with their heavy sabots which they 
 always forget to "leave at the door on en- 
 tering the ward." Just as I think I have 
 put on a good one that will stay, and the 
 blesses cry, " Qa y est ! " off it rolls, clattering 
 along the wooden floor under the next bed. 
 Nothing daunted, "Grandpere" shouts: 
 "Encore!" He is never satisfied to have 
 a few good ones but must always have 
 "Just one more!" even if they clatter 
 around him like hail-stones. I am so excited 
 when one does take, that the blesses cheer 
 and the orderlies clank back to their work, 
 muttering: "That helps, that does good." 
 We call the purple marks that are left 
 medals for valor in the hospital. Once I 
 
68 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 forgot to take them off when the ten min- 
 utes were up, in the confusion of having 
 several things happen at one time, and 
 poor " Grandpere " remained bent forward 
 uncomfortably for nearly an hour without 
 a word of complaint. I thought he would 
 be cured after this experience, but next 
 day he began asking for them as usual. 
 
 The "Artiste" was copying one of Otho 
 Cushing's drawings of a Red Cross angel 
 from an old Life. When I stopped to admire 
 it as I interrupted his work prosaically with 
 a thermometer, he said: 
 
 "I am glad it pleases you. I have made 
 it for you. Mademoiselle Marraine, for you 
 are our angel." He went on elaborating this 
 theme while I took his pulse. 
 
 I was glad the "Sergent," who ruled as 
 king in the ward of poilus, called me at 
 that embarrassing moment to show me 
 some flowers some one had given him. He 
 was so pleased with these few flowers that 
 he called it a "fete." The ward was so bare 
 
THE BLESSES 69 
 
 and drab, they liked to see me wearing a 
 few flowers, or decorating the walls with 
 holly or mistletoe. 
 
 "Gamin le Gaspillage, stop walking 
 around with your thermometer, and look 
 at this great chunk of bread I found on 
 your little table." 
 
 The orderlies were supposed to keep the 
 bedside tables clean, washing the cups, 
 bringing fresh towels and napkins, and re- 
 moving crumbs of food and cigarette ashes. 
 I had found so many pieces of bread left 
 after each meal that I made a point of look- 
 ing over these tables. They teased me about 
 not wanting any bread to be wasted, asking 
 me if I had been raised in Germany. 
 
 "We always take a big piece, hoping it 
 may taste better than last time. What 
 matter if it goes to waste ? The government 
 pays." 
 
 They evidently thought after a lifetime 
 of thrift, the government owed them this 
 privilege. "Gamin le Gaspillage" was the 
 
70 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 worst offender, as he left bits of cheese and 
 butter as well as untouched pieces of bread. 
 He always gave them to me laughingly 
 when he saw me making a round in the 
 cause of tidiness, saying: 
 
 "Look, here comes the poor Mademoi- 
 selle gathering up her dinner. Here, my 
 poor child, is a crust for you." 
 
 "Here is a nice book for you to read. 
 Mademoiselle," said "Monsieur le Valet." 
 He spent most of his time reading Balzac, 
 which he called "delicious," and looked like 
 an artist with his pointed beard. His cul- 
 tured voice and literary taste seemed above 
 his profession. I was surprised when he 
 asked me to take him back to America 
 with me, offering as a special inducement to 
 work three months gratis because I had 
 dressed his foot so well. When a wound was 
 not very serious, the doctors left it for me 
 to dress. Although the "Valet" had lost 
 his big toe, it was considered "peu de grave" 
 and turned over to my care. He is usually 
 
> 
 
 u 
 as 
 
 03 -^ 
 
 a — 
 
 
 
 ffi 
 
THE BLESSES 71 
 
 in a heated argument with his neighbor, 
 "Monsieur le Sculpture," who has the foot 
 of his bed raised on bricks hke a pedestal, 
 and the whole of one leg in a plaster cast. 
 
 All the blesses insist on keeping the rough 
 bits of shell that have caused them so much 
 trouble. After every operation, I must wash 
 the blood-stained "eclat," tie it up in a 
 compress, and hang it where they can always 
 see their precious souvenir. The "bavards" 
 like to talk about their wounds, though 
 they never mention the battle-field, and 
 show me a pocketbook with a shell-hole 
 in it which saved their life. 
 
 I never discovered the origin of the "Be- 
 gonias." They are the ones who walk about 
 and help with the work, making the beds 
 and feeding their helpless comrades. Their 
 leader was the cause of my first attempt at 
 dentistry. I was used to putting drops in 
 eyes and ears that hurt, but was puzzled 
 when the chief of the " Begonias " ap- 
 proached me, turning his mouth inside out 
 
72 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 to show me a large cavity in his back tooth 
 that was giving him great pain. I took him 
 into my office at the back of the ward, and 
 with all the others craning their necks to 
 watch the performance through the little 
 window, pushed a tiny bit of cotton soaked 
 in iodine into the hole. Iodine is my stand- 
 by remedy for all ills, but it was so hard to 
 use it this time, that his chin was stained 
 with trickles of brown and had to be 
 scrubbed hard with Dakin, the best bleach 
 I knew, to the amusement of the ward. 
 Ever after, the chief of the "Begonias" had 
 only to approach me with his mouth wide 
 open, pointing inward and upward, to get 
 a burst of laughter. 
 
 The "comedians" keep their end of the 
 room cheerful with an unending supply of 
 funny stories, told in a "patois" which I 
 do not understand. From what I know of 
 French wit and humor, it is probably just 
 as well I do not understand their "badi- 
 nage," which is a bit "rosse," and yet I like 
 
THE BLESSfiS 73 
 
 to see them amused, no matter what they 
 laugh at. "We must be gay," said one who 
 had looked upon horrors untellable. This 
 spirit is the hope of the future. 
 
 "Robespierre," a perfect likeness, opened 
 the door for me when the thermometer 
 session was over. 
 
 "Meyran wanted me to tell you, Made- 
 moiselle, that there is a beautiful sunset, 
 when you have a little moment to come 
 and look at it." 
 
 Meyran, my favorite orderly, always 
 cleaned the basins on the door-step where 
 he could watch the sky, and tell me when 
 an aeroplane from the camp not far from 
 us was performing feats worth watching 
 or a Boche observer flew so low one could 
 see the black cross on the wings. He also 
 knew how much I liked to see the sunset, 
 after the dreary sameness of the wards, and 
 the flatness of the surrounding country, 
 which made everything seem so small and 
 insignificant. There is something about flat 
 
74 HOSPITAL HEROESj 
 
 country which enhances the beauty of 
 sunsets. I suppose the total lack of any- 
 thing beautiful in this place allows the sun 
 to set with no detracting competition. It 
 always rested me to gaze into that en- 
 chanted space, radiating joy unspoiled by 
 "the thunder and moaning of war." Some- 
 times, the whole sky was misty with pastel 
 colors, and sometimes the heart of the west 
 burned like a great open fireplace. How I 
 would have appreciated a blazing wood- 
 fire in the drafty ward instead of the little 
 round stoves that made so much dirt and 
 so little heat ! 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 LIFE AT THE FRONT 
 
 TET no one trained in a big New York 
 -*-' hospital suppose we had a furnace to 
 heat the wards or our own rooms or run- 
 ning water and bathrooms. We had barely 
 the necessities for a hospital. Our buildings, 
 being temporarily constructed, were little 
 protection against the snowy weather of 
 December. 
 
 The cold was penetrating and more pain- 
 ful than sunny, dry zero weather in New 
 York. The wind blew down the stovepipes, 
 putting out the fires, and almost tearing 
 the roof off. Snow sifted into the ward 
 through cracks in the ceiling and around 
 the windows. I had to rearrange the beds 
 every day, pulling them into the centre 
 at all angles to avoid drips, giving the room 
 a demoralized aspect. Every blesse had a 
 
 75 
 
76 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 cold. The "caporal" whittled a stick for 
 me to use when I painted chest after chest 
 with iodine each night. They did not hke 
 to see my fingers stained, as they always 
 were when I took the cotton or a compress 
 in my hands. So I flom-ished the stick like 
 an artist's brush, and amused them by 
 starting ojff with initials or a picture. Those 
 unavoidably in drafts had bed-socks of 
 various colors on their heads. I envied 
 them in their beds like hibernating animals, 
 snuggled under nine heavy blankets. 
 
 My hands would become quite lifeless as 
 I made the tour of temperatures the first 
 thing on a cold morning, or held icy bot- 
 tles for the doctors as they did the dress- 
 ings. When I tried to warm my numb 
 fingers by literally placing them upon the 
 stove, the blesses would cry out in protest 
 and rub them warm for me so I would not 
 have "engelures." 
 
 I dreaded each trip to my little room, for 
 the back door was opened so often by the 
 
.in <U 
 
 a S 
 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 77 
 
 orderlies on their various errands that the 
 floor was a sheet of ice, and yet I had to 
 stay there a great part of the time to prepare 
 the dressing-carriage, steriHze needles and 
 syringes, clean instruments, make drinks, 
 and enter the doctors' orders for treat- 
 ments, dressings, and operations, the ar- 
 rivals and departures of the blesses and 
 to which equipe each belonged, neatly in 
 French in a note-book kept open for the 
 night nurse to add her remarks. How I 
 would have appreciated hoofs ! My un- 
 gloved hands were a pathetic purple, and 
 in spite of the blesses' care, often cracked 
 and bleeding, and my nose was a most un- 
 becoming red. I wore two pairs of heavy 
 stockings and stuffed cotton inside my 
 tennis-shoes, which kept popping out at 
 the sides like a fringe or the pads horses 
 are given when they interfere. And yet 
 through everything I had to keep up the 
 morale of my ward. I had read somewhere 
 about ''hospital wards, cheerful and pleas- 
 
78 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ant, with trim, nice-looking girls as nurses, 
 whose air of coquetry was deemed helpful 
 to the patient." This was more difficult 
 than one would suppose, but the blesses 
 helped a lot. In fact, I was never quite 
 sure whether I was taking care of them 
 or they of me. 
 
 The first time I helped at a dressing, a 
 little boy of seventeen, known as "le Petit 
 Parisien," because he was typical of his 
 birthplace, saved me from uttering a cry 
 of horror and running away. He was one 
 of the happiest in the ward, and seemed 
 to be quite free from suffering or worry. 
 Therefore the shock came unexpectedly 
 when I first took off his bandage and re- 
 vealed a right hand frightfully mangled 
 from which the fingers hung down fastened 
 by a mere thread. He held it up without 
 a quiver for the doctor to dress, and when 
 he saw my expression, though there were 
 tears in his eyes, he smiled at me reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 79 
 
 "Monsieur le Coiffeur" could not forget 
 his original profession, though he had served 
 three years as "marechal des logis," he 
 always informed me in a distressed tone 
 when my veil had slipped to one side or 
 had some of the black from the stovepipe 
 on it. They made so much fun of my com- 
 fortable, rubber-soled shoes, that I only 
 dared wear them on the coldest days when 
 they were more lenient in their discipline. 
 I considered myself responsible for the 
 morale of my ward and took it as a per- 
 sonal affront when any one had the "ca- 
 fard." During the harrowing moments when 
 the doctors were doing most painful dress- 
 ings, I tried to wear a mask of cheerfulness 
 as I gave the doctor compress after com- 
 press to cover a large expanse of mangled 
 flesh, or poured ether or "menciere" on the 
 wound. I did not want them to see in my 
 face how serious and horrible it was. 
 
 Perhaps my great sympathy for them 
 and longing to keep them from suffering 
 
80 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 atoned for my inexperience. I was not 
 treated as a novice and was grateful for 
 the impression given to the blesses that I 
 had done it all many times. It gave me 
 confidence. When in doubt about anything, 
 I would admit "I must ask the doctor," 
 using the feeble excuse that "things are so 
 different in America." 
 
 In England or America, I would not have 
 been up to the standard, but in France I 
 was better equipped after my two months' 
 apprenticeship than most of the French 
 "infirmieres" and "ministerielles," for it 
 seems only English-speaking races have 
 professionally trained nurses. The work in 
 French hospitals has been done chiefly by 
 the English, and the Frenchwomen who 
 have given up other occupation to answer 
 the needs of the country, but who are as 
 new to the work as voluntary workers like 
 those in our unit. There is so much to be 
 done, and so few really strong enough to 
 do it or able to support themselves. Trained 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 81 
 
 nurses are rather scornful and sceptical in 
 their remarks about untrained aides being 
 sent to the front, but if they are unable 
 to give their services without pay the work 
 must be done by those who can and are 
 willing to learn, and do as they are told. 
 Otherwise some of the blesses would be 
 left to the orderlies, who are not very clean 
 or conscientious. Trained nurses are only 
 going on with their usual work with an 
 added zest and excitement given by for- 
 eign service and war, but no one should 
 criticise those who give their services, and 
 sometimes their lives, for a work to which 
 they are not accustomed. Many women 
 are slaving night and day who never knew 
 what it was to suffer a discomfort. French 
 countesses who were helpless without a per- 
 sonal maid have turned up their sleeves 
 and dressed wounds reeking with the un- 
 bearable odor of gangrene poisoning. Doc- 
 tor Carrel, the famous surgeon of the Rocke- 
 feller Institute, who has been promoted 
 
82 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 by the French Government to the rank 
 of Commander of the Legion of Honor for 
 his discoveries of methods of blood trans- 
 fusion, conservation of hving tissue, graft- 
 ing bones, and treating wounds, which have 
 been of such universal benefit to the 
 wounded, has praised the work of volun- 
 tary nurses highly. His own nurses are 
 Swiss "bene voles." 
 
 When the American Red Cross did send 
 some professional army nurses to help 
 during an attack, the "medecin-chef " sent 
 them away, saying they were only "lemon- 
 trees standing in the wards." They could 
 not speak French and refused to take tem- 
 peratures as we had been doing all the 
 time. Triumph for the untrained nurses, 
 even if I do say so when I should be modest ! 
 However, it is something to be proud of 
 to be able to aid a doctor willingly and 
 unquestioningly wherever one is needed 
 and to care for wounded with tact and 
 sympathy that comes from culture if not 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 83 
 
 with trained professional skill. The need 
 in our hospital was so great that I had to 
 give hypodermic injections and do some 
 of the dressings, which American aides 
 and English V. A. D.'s are not allowed to 
 do even after months of hospital experi- 
 ence. During my apprenticeship I was some- 
 times left alone in the ward, so it was not 
 very hard a little later to have charge of 
 one of my own. 
 
 For a while I had a maid to help me as 
 well as the caporal and two orderlies, but I 
 preferred to give the baths and make the 
 beds myself. Though they were her own 
 countrymen, she was rough and careless 
 and refused to do anything but sit around 
 on the beds on Sunday and gossip. When 
 I reminded her that if men could be wounded 
 on Sunday they could be taken care of as 
 well, she flounced out of the room saying 
 I was "too young to give orders." I never 
 let her come back again. The blesses com- 
 plained that she had only bothered, walk- 
 
84 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ing so heavily it hurt their wounds, and 
 talking so much. 
 
 I never had a regular "day off," nor did 
 any one in our unit. We went on duty at 
 eight o'clock each morning, with two hours 
 off in the middle of the day for a walk 
 and lunch, but if there was a great deal 
 of work to be done, we would only take 
 a half -hour. The English always made time 
 for tea, but that was my hour for tem- 
 peratures and doctors' visits. We left the 
 wards at seven o'clock, when night duty 
 began. 
 
 One of us did night duty for a week alone, 
 being replaced in her ward or daytime work 
 so she could rest. In busy times two of us 
 would take the same night, one until mid- 
 night, the other after midnight. If there 
 are many new arrivals and much operating, 
 the night nurse calls for assistance, and 
 whoever is in charge of the operating-room 
 hurries over to help the surgeon on guard. 
 Usually night duty consists in making a tour 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 85 
 
 of the wards every two hours to give the 
 Carrel injections or other treatments and 
 hypodermics ordered, recording what she 
 has done in the book kept by the nurse 
 in charge of each ward. It takes courage 
 to go on duty all alone at night in the dark 
 with only a flash-light or lantern. Bombard- 
 ments often occur, and there are more 
 deaths than in the daytime. 
 
 The shed in which our unit is billeted is 
 near the road, where we can see the troops 
 passing by like a river of gray steel hel- 
 mets. The French troops march silently, 
 except for their heavy boots clumping along 
 the hard road, but I often longed for the 
 sound of a military band to drown out the 
 continuous noise of the traffic. Armed mo- 
 tors and the big guns rattled by, mingling 
 their din with the heavily lumbering motor- 
 lorries, the clattering hoofs of the packed 
 horses, and tooting horns of staff cars that 
 shot past at top speed. They would billet 
 in our little village, so one day the streets 
 
86 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 would be filled with picturesque "Blue 
 Devils," and the next with a swarthy Al- 
 gerian regiment. Sometimes young boys 
 would be brought in to the hospital from 
 the trenches, and other times the wards 
 would fill up with gray-haired men. 
 
 When we did have time for a short walk, 
 it was like stepping into an illustrated 
 Sunday paper or into a Paihe Weekly of 
 "Somewhere in France." Behind us on the 
 road and ahead of us were millions of men 
 in blue, almost the same height. It seemed 
 unreal, like a stage-setting with ruins on 
 every side, and yet we were actually in it, 
 marching along with men who would soon 
 be in the first-line trenches. From a distance 
 the long, monotonous roll of artillery, like 
 surf beating on the seashore, made it all 
 too real. 
 
 It always seems to rain at the front, as 
 if the desolate plains and dreary boom of 
 the cannon and continual sight of suffering 
 are not enough to make one realize there 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 87 
 
 is war close by. In cross-country walks 
 one sometimes stumbles against piles of 
 shells, evidently forgotten, concealed in the 
 most unexpected places. I found a croix 
 de guerre in the ruins of a town. The ribbon 
 was faded, and the dates were 1914-1916 
 with a star. Having no way to identify 
 the man who had earned it, I could not 
 return it to his family. 
 
 One day, when the French were preparing 
 to attack, we heard that there were some- 
 tanks in a field not far from us. Every one 
 stole a few minutes from work to see them. 
 I was fortunate enough to go with a nurse 
 who had been decorated by the general 
 of the blesses in her ward with a "croix de 
 guerre fourragere." Through her influence 
 we were admitted to the meadow where 
 about fifty tanks were stationed. The ofiicer 
 on guard let us climb into one of the middle- 
 sized ones, which looked like a big green 
 frog with its camouflage of mottled green, 
 and guns peering out at each side like eyes. 
 
88 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 In it we went down-hill into the mud and 
 climbed up again. 
 
 That evening the captain of the tanks 
 had dinner with us, being a cousin of Ma- 
 dame G . Our one recreation consisted 
 
 in staying up late and entertaining officers 
 on their way through Cugny after our 
 day's work was done. The splendid gold 
 braid of their uniforms contrasted oddly 
 with our poor dining-room. 
 
 Lunch and dinner (or dinner and supper 
 — I never was sure which was which) were 
 served in a wooden hut similar to those 
 used as wards, except that it was divided 
 into three parts: one-third for the "femmes 
 de menage" (maids who did our housework 
 and helped in the wards), one part for 
 kitchen, presided over for a time by a real 
 chef from the Ritz, who had come to us 
 wounded and was kept as cook during 
 his prolonged convalescence until the gen- 
 darmes arrested him for bigamy. We did 
 not care how many wives he had, if he 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 89 
 
 could only have stayed with us, cleverly 
 disguising the poor quality of the food with 
 his delicious sauces. 
 
 The last and largest part was our dining- 
 room. A long wooden table with a long 
 wooden bench on each side, and an arm- 
 chair for the "directrice" at the end, give 
 the impression of a refectory, until we are 
 all there. Then it becomes the wildest scene 
 of confusion. We have no table manners, 
 and startle our guests by repeatedly rising 
 from the table. In one corner is a stove on 
 which we make toast as we eat, climbing 
 over the back rail of the bench frequently 
 to see how it is coming along. We heat over 
 what has chilled if we are late, or run out 
 to the kitchen to see whether the maids 
 are having better food than we are, which 
 is often the case. Whereupon we bring it 
 back with us and put it down proudly in 
 front of the oflficer of highest rank. All 
 around the walls are large crates and pack- 
 ing-cases of food in tins, and hospital-sup- 
 
90 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 plies, beyond which and overhanging them, 
 out of reach, are shelves of books and maga- 
 zines. The windows look almost too civilized 
 and pathetically dainty with their chintz 
 curtains. 
 
 Work and the open air that penetrates 
 our walls as if we were living outdoors 
 make us hungry even for the monotonous 
 diet of a military hospital. Tinned food, 
 horse-meat, red wine that tastes like vine- 
 gar, mouse-trap cheese — we are so hungry 
 we eat it all. If the soup is even more taste- 
 less than usual, we grate cheese into it or 
 make it snappy with a touch of Worcester- 
 shire sauce. If the pudding is the same we 
 have been eating for two meals a day, 
 week after week, month after month, 
 we dress it up with a cover of jam. What 
 would we ever do without jam.^ Three 
 times a day we spread it over uneatable 
 bread and forget that it is gray instead of 
 white, and that we noticed sawdust in the 
 crust. 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 91 
 
 When there are guests a special effort 
 is made. Some one goes to the nearest town 
 and brings back cakes, pate de foies gras, 
 and champagne. But the table is always 
 set in the same manner: two white enamel 
 plates, one on top of the other; a knife, 
 fork, and spoon. This and nothing more for 
 the whole meal. It takes skilful management 
 to put the right things together. You must 
 finish every bit of your soup, for the meat 
 and potatoes will taste better on that plate 
 than the pudding will on the same plate 
 with the vegetables. Each one keeps her 
 napkin in a little linen bag hanging behind 
 her part of the bench, and usually keeps it 
 indefinitely, forgetting to send it with the 
 rest of the laundry. 
 
 We are billeted in a hut like the ward, 
 with paper ceilings (full of mice) instead 
 of wood, and windows of yellow paper in- 
 stead of glass. No one opened these windows 
 at night. There was no need with the wind 
 blowing up through the cracks in the floor. 
 
92 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 Instead, we shut them tighter with cotton 
 stuifed along the cracks. Each one has a 
 little space of her own with sheets for walls, 
 so that the general impression on opening 
 the door is of a Pullman done in white. 
 Our rooms were quite cheerful with bright- 
 colored chintz concealing trunks, shelves, 
 and rows of hooks, and a blanket on the 
 floor for a rug. After the war I shall never 
 want to see a trunk, after living without 
 unpacking ever since I got on the steamer. 
 
 For furniture we have wooden tables, 
 camp-stools, an electric light, and a gas- 
 mask. Some of us had had experience camp- 
 ing out, but we had never roughed it in 
 snowy weather. We stood it very well, not 
 even getting tonsillitis, bronchitis, or grippe, 
 as one does in steam-heated houses. I sup- 
 pose we were all in good condition when 
 we came, after living in comfortable homes, 
 well nourished. 
 
 I don't believe in the strict army system 
 of giving the men so many hardships be- 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 93 
 
 fore they are sent to the front. It may 
 harden some of them, but it weakens others 
 who might otherwise escape illness if they 
 had arrived in perfect condition in the war 
 zone, instead of being worn out needlessly 
 with poor food and discomfort. Every one 
 who has to go under fire should have all 
 the care and comfort he can get before he 
 comes way out here. He needs all his re- 
 serve strength and nerves intact for the 
 strain. However, my business is to take care 
 of the soldiers afterward and not before. 
 
 Sometimes, though tired, I have gone to 
 a party, spurred on by the prospect of dif- 
 ferent food (I must admit) more than enter- 
 tainment. One night the French com- 
 mandant of an ambulance section stationed 
 in our vicinity sent his car for those of us 
 who had been invited for dinner at his 
 poste. Even the cold ride was a treat after 
 being housed for a long time. We dined in 
 the cellar of a ruined chateau and could 
 hear the guns plainly. The walls were crum- 
 
94 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 bling. One of them had fallen only the day 
 before and killed a man. 
 
 The dining-room was decorated with 
 pictures from illustrated papers. Bathing- 
 suits were the last things I had expected 
 to see out there. I sat between a prince 
 chauffeur and an American "Loot" (giving 
 him his own rendering of his rank). Neither 
 of them having a thing in common, not 
 even language, only their work, which one 
 does not discuss at parties, I was glad when 
 we began to sing. Such strange connections 
 and acquaintances are formed at the front. 
 All sorts of people you would never meet 
 at home are so friendly and sympathetic. 
 There is a mutual interest and respect that 
 I have found nowhere else. 
 
 On All Souls' Day, "le jour des morts," 
 we placed fresh flowers upon the little 
 graves in the cemetery near our hospital. 
 They were surrounded by a railing of 
 painted wood. Over each grave was a cross, 
 hung with a fancifully decorated wreath 
 
LIFE AT THE FRONT 95 
 
 and an identity disc and "tricolore" in the 
 centre, and sometimes the kepi, coat, and 
 boots. It did not seem pathetic or sad, but 
 a fine thing that they should be lying there 
 at rest in their native soil which they had 
 tried to defend with their lives. 
 
 From there we went by camion to a 
 lonely hilltop near Flavy-le-Martel. Here 
 the American aviator McConnell, who 
 wrote "Flying for France," was buried 
 where he fell when shot by the enemy. A 
 monument with parts of his aeroplane and 
 gun commemorated the spot, in the midst 
 of what had once been a large apple- 
 orchard. Every tree had been systematically 
 cut down by the Germans in their retreat, 
 the branches pointing in the same direction, 
 like rows of graves. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN ATTACK 
 
 'T^HERE is a maid who brings us hot 
 ■■- water and breakfast. Not the pohte 
 third-person kind that says deferentially 
 "Madame est servie," but a comedian of 
 the May Vokes variety — only more so. 
 She starts off noisily in all directions at 
 once, arriving nowhere in time, singing 
 loudly or telling herself what chore she 
 is going to do next, though in spite of her 
 own constant reminder she invariably for- 
 gets to do it. "O quelle horreur !" she cries, 
 when she does anything awkward, which 
 is most of the time. 
 
 Nevertheless, I like Germaine, the much- 
 abused, for she has a big heart. In this 
 atmosphere of efficiency in which I am 
 living there is little time for feelings, and 
 I was drawn to Germaine when I found 
 
AN ATTACK 97 
 
 her huddled up on the floor by the stove 
 crying over a dead cat. In return for a few 
 kind words I am one of the favored few 
 who breakfast in bed, and how I appreciate 
 a hot drink before I have to get up and 
 dress in a place colder than outdoors be- 
 cause there is no sun. I burned my face 
 and froze my back trying to get less cold, 
 my one consolation being the fact that I 
 could not get any colder. I would never get 
 warm enough to catch a chill. However, 
 the thought of the men in the trenches 
 pulled me through the coldest weather and 
 made my hardships unimportant. 
 
 I acquired strange habits of stowing my 
 clothes under the covers every night, and 
 postponing a bath for the middle of the 
 day when one could thaw out a little and 
 begin to feel one's feet again after hobbling 
 painfully about on them all morning. Even 
 then it was hardly a bath, for the rubber tub 
 was too small. It tipped over so easily that 
 it was safer to take it to an empty room near 
 
98 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the big stove that kept the water heated for 
 all of us. It was warmer here, but one had 
 to hurry, for Louis was always coming in 
 to keep the fire going, and you could only 
 lock the door by pinning the sheets together 
 and shouting "Don't come in!" whenever 
 you heard his manly tread. 
 
 Germaine was supposed to waken me at 
 seven o'clock, but usually arrived at half 
 past or later, calling cheerily: "Seven 
 o'clock." The French always lie if they 
 think it will give more happiness than 
 telling the truth. When she is too busy to 
 toast the impossible war-bread, she does 
 one side anyway. The coffee is boiled and 
 quite tasteless, with a lump of condensed 
 milk at the bottom of the cup. I never get 
 that far, and am consequently very hun- 
 gry when lunch-time comes. This coffee and 
 the bath will keep me modest when after 
 the war I may think myself extraordinary. 
 The memory of these humble details will 
 save me from becoming insufferable. 
 
AN ATTACK 99 
 
 One morning Germaine burst into my 
 room, pulling the sheet wall apart in a place 
 that was not the doorway and upsetting 
 my wash-stand. She seemed more flurried 
 than usual, if such a thing were possi- 
 ble. 
 
 "Good morning, Mademoiselle," she be- 
 gan hastily, tripping over the blanket rug 
 and putting my breakfast-tray under my 
 chin with a plunge. "Listen ! Do you hear? 
 It is the French who attack to-day. Poor 
 boys ! You can hear the glorious seventy- 
 fives ! Quelle horreur ! Will this frightful 
 war never end ! Now I must get the hot 
 water for Madame de B ." 
 
 When wide awake, I could plainly hear 
 the peculiar bark of the "glorious seventy- 
 fives," and could distinguish the "arrives" 
 from the "departs." During my hasty 
 dressing, a strong cannonade shook the 
 barracks, and made the stovepipes creak. 
 Many new faces, or what remained of faces, 
 greeted me when I entered the ward. 
 
100 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 "Beaucoup d'entrants !" said the caporai, 
 looking sadly at the new arrivals. 
 
 "We need more aluminum for our rings 
 and 'briquets,'" said Jean Biscay, as he 
 worked away at his handicraft of making 
 little cigarette lighters and rings out of 
 pieces of old shell. "'Messieurs les Boches' 
 are filling our order now." 
 
 The ward was very quiet all day out of 
 respect to the "entrants" who were in 
 great pain and needed rest and sleep. Sev- 
 eral hemorrhages had to be stopped, and 
 many poor souls crying from shock and 
 exhaustion had to be comforted. The work 
 was heavy and I had to be several places 
 at once, and do many things at the same 
 time. The orderlies and "Begonias" were 
 a valuable assistance and, thanks to them, 
 no one was neglected. 
 
 All day the roar of artillery shook the 
 wooden building. All day the stretcher- 
 bearers shuffled in and out of the ward 
 carrying men to and from the operating- 
 
AN ATTACK 101 
 
 room. Some of my walking delegates were 
 sent into another ward, where there was 
 no nurse, only orderlies, to make room for 
 those who needed more attention. Some- 
 times the brancardiers left their burdens on 
 the floor, and hurried back to the operating- 
 room, or triage, where ambulance after am- 
 bulance arrived leaving more and more 
 wounded. There they would lie until the 
 orderlies had time to lift them into a bed, 
 which I was making while its former oc- 
 cupant collected his things to move out. 
 At last the ward was full, and still the bran- 
 cardiers appeared with their stretchers and 
 the caporal or I had to turn them away: 
 "Pas de place." 
 
 There seemed to be every kind of wound 
 except an aseptic one. Most of the dress- 
 ings were done in the ward, several doctors 
 of different equipes often arriving at the 
 same time and adding greatly to the gen- 
 eral confusion. There were many hypo- 
 dermics to be given to stimulate those who 
 
102 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 had lost a great deal of blood or needed to 
 be braced up after their operation. The 
 gassed cases had an oxygen inhalation every 
 five minutes from a Zeppelin-shaped bag. 
 The most serious gassed cases were sent to 
 the " malades," where fourteen died in one 
 day. Cradles had to be placed over mangled 
 limbs to keep the blankets from pressing 
 too heavily. Swollen faces full of bits of 
 shrapnel had to be washed gently. Some of 
 the mouths were full of blood, and the eyes 
 of one man had to be pushed in again now 
 and then. There were men whose hair was 
 gray at thirty-five, and boys younger than 
 I with faces of old men. The German shells 
 must have been poisoned, as the men had 
 all received prompt attention at the "poste 
 de secours" in the front lines before coming 
 to us, where they were immediately oper- 
 ated, and yet several amputations were 
 necessary on account of gangrene. 
 
 I am always afraid to tell them, but wait 
 for the doctor to break the sad news when 
 
AN ATTACK 103 
 
 they have sufficiently recovered. Some of 
 the men tell sad stories. One "fusilier" said 
 he did not mind losing his leg. 
 
 "There is no one to care, Mademoiselle," 
 he explained with a quiet desperateness. 
 "One time I had a wife so devoted that the 
 first year of this miserable war she dressed 
 in man's clothes and came to see me at 
 the camp, just before I went into the 
 trenches. But that is over. The war was 
 too long. She grew tired of being always 
 alone. The waiting bored her. She is now 
 with a Spaniard who makes munitions and 
 money, while I fight and lose my leg and 
 get little pay. It is the war. Mademoiselle, 
 and one must not expect justice. There is 
 nothing but death to look forward to." 
 
 He was only thirty-two, and though 
 wasted, his hands were well shaped, and 
 his face was still good-looking, with sensitive 
 mouth and refined features. He was very 
 talkative and feverish after his operation. 
 It seems he enlisted as a private for socialis- 
 
104 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 tic reasons. How abruptly war cut him ojff 
 from a career and happy home life! And 
 how many others like him ! So many had 
 wives; even the boys of seventeen wore 
 wedding-rings proudly, and all waited anx- 
 iously for the daily visit of the " vague- 
 mestre " with his letters and parcels. 
 
 For a field-hospital, the installation is 
 quite complete, though rudimentary. The 
 compound fractures with open wounds are 
 suspended in Doctor Blake's apparatus. 
 Most of the doctors use Doctor Carrel's 
 system of irrigating the wounds. The ap- 
 paratus consists of a glass flask of one litre, 
 filled with a solution of Dakin, and fastened 
 to a post attached to a part of the bed 
 nearest the wound. A long rubber tube at- 
 tached to the lower opening of the flask 
 is joined to the ends of the drains by little 
 glass tubes. The drains are perforated dif- 
 ferent lengths (5, 10, or 15 cm.) and from 
 one to four are used according to the size 
 of the wound. One end is tied with a string 
 
t« o 
 
 s s 
 
 Oh OJ 
 
 O 
 
AN ATTACK 105 
 
 so the solution may distribute itseK instead 
 of going right through. There is a metal 
 clasp on the long tube to keep the liquid 
 from flowing except when necessary, every 
 two hours, when it is opened for as many 
 seconds as there are drains. The idea is to 
 keep the wound disinfected by keeping it 
 moist. 
 
 If a man has several wounds to be treated 
 in this way at the same time, the same 
 flask may be used with several connecting 
 tubes joined to the main one, or his bed 
 can be surrounded by posts in convenient 
 places, making it look very festive with 
 two or three pink balloons around. 
 
 Assisting at the dressings is the most in- 
 teresting part of my work. It is like a game 
 of jackstraws, picking up each instrument 
 and handing it to the doctor without touch- 
 ing anything. At first the sight of the wound 
 and the suffering of my own blesses, a mo- 
 ment before so cheerful, and now in such 
 agony, was hard for me to watch, but soon 
 
106 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 I became so absorbed in the dressing, and 
 in giving the doctors the various things they 
 asked for in French, things I had never 
 seen or heard of before, that it took my 
 mind off the pain of the blesse and the horror 
 of the open wound. I was too busy to think. 
 No anaesthetic is given, although some of the 
 dressings are ahnost operations. Pieces of 
 tissue or hgaments are sometimes cut away, 
 sending a man out of his head with the 
 pain. When several dressings are going on 
 at the same time, the ward is almost un- 
 bearable with the cries and moans and 
 the abominable odor of gangrene. The doc- 
 tors are usually very gentle, even when 
 rushed during a day of attack, and talk to 
 the blesse as they work, calling him "mdn 
 pauvre vieux." Bits of clothing, mud, and 
 even flowers are taken out of some of the 
 wounds as well as shrapnel and jagged bits 
 of shell. 
 
 The carriage must be furnished with 
 sterilized instruments and supplies enough 
 
AN ATTACK 107 
 
 for several doctors and dressings at a time. 
 Afterward there are blood-stained instru- 
 ments to wash, maybe one with a piece of 
 skull fastened tightly to a jagged edge of 
 the instrument, a piece of some trepanned 
 head that will ever after be half-witted be- 
 cause of the loss of that little scrap of bone. 
 
 However, I would not care to be in the 
 "salle de pansements," where dressings are 
 done all day in rapid succession. It would 
 be worse than an operating-room, where, 
 no matter how terrible the work may look, 
 the man is not suffering, but under an 
 anaesthetic. In the ward there are so many 
 different things to keep me busy and occupy 
 my mind. There are moments when every- 
 thing happens at once, as on the day of an 
 attack, extra work as well as the daily 
 routine. 
 
 When the Carrel treatment is used, the 
 wound is washed with a solution of Dakin, 
 or a liquid soap containing zinc, lime, and 
 glycerine. Sometimes chloramine paste is 
 
108 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 used at the dressing for a day or two, elim- 
 inating the necessity for the two-hourly 
 injections. The wound is then covered 
 with vaseline compresses, which can be 
 removed without tearing, and large pads 
 of both kinds of cotton, the absorbent 
 next the wound and the non-absorbent on 
 the outside. These are held in place by 
 moist bandages or a wide bandage pinned 
 around the body if the wound is in the back 
 or abdomen. 
 
 The solution of Dakin is a powerful dis- 
 infectant, as it succeeds in cleaning wounds 
 even when the dressing is not done in proper 
 Carrel style. I have sometimes noticed 
 drains put in with the perforations on the 
 outside, so that although some of the solu- 
 tion soaks through to the wound, most of 
 it stays in a puddle in the bed. Often the 
 two kinds of cotton are not arranged cor- 
 rectly. When done in the right way, it takes 
 only four days to disinfect a fresh wound 
 and fifteen for an old one. 
 
AN ATTACK 109 
 
 On the day of an attack the poverty 
 and shortcomings of our hospital become 
 more apparent. When my blesses write me 
 from other hospitals that they are not as 
 well taken care of as at Cugny, that the beds 
 and food are not as good, I am surprised 
 and anxious about them. Sometimes our 
 poverty is appalling. I have seen horses 
 that had better blankets than those on 
 the beds in our wards. When the laundry- 
 machine, which is in Compiegne, quite far 
 away, breaks, we go weeks without clean 
 linen for the men. Sheets are only changed 
 when there is a great emergency, not when 
 they are gray with cigarette ashes or dirt 
 from those who insist upon walking bare- 
 footed about the ward. There is a small 
 reserve supply in the emergency ward when 
 this shortage of laundry occurs, kept espe- 
 cially for the "grands blesses" who have 
 hemorrhages, or wounds of such a nature 
 that their beds must be changed several 
 times a day. 
 
110 HOSPITAL HEEOES 
 
 The highest proof of the French civiHza- 
 tion is found in the characters of these 
 blesses, farmers, taxi-drivers, plain work- 
 ing men, simple country boys, who are 
 never too hurt or too faint to murmur 
 their thanks for every small attention. If 
 they thought I was tired they would say 
 they were perfectly comfortable instead of 
 having their beds made over, or an alcohol 
 rub, or any little comfort. In the midst of 
 torture and death they are still cheerful 
 and unselfishly try to help their "cama- 
 rades." Hot-water bags, little pillows for 
 filling up uncomfortable places in the bed, 
 and special luxuries, of which there is but 
 a scant supply, are quickly offered to the 
 latest "entrant" or "opere" when they 
 are carried in delirious or moaning with 
 ether or pain. Even those who would rather 
 read quietly or sleep, would let the "phono" 
 play noisily by their bedside for the pleasure 
 of the others, if I did not take it away. In- 
 stead of making men brutal, war seems to 
 
AN ATTACK 111 
 
 have made them very gentle and kind to 
 one another. 
 
 I was hurrying back to supper after the 
 busy day of the attack when the nurse in 
 the emergency ward stopped me on the 
 way past her door. 
 
 "Oh, please stay in my ward a few min- 
 utes," she begged in a distracted way. "The 
 orderlies have not come back from their 
 supper, and I have to tell the doctor about 
 one poor man who is dying. I can't leave 
 the ward alone. Do watch them until I 
 get back. It won't be long, and you'll help 
 a lot." 
 
 The "salle d'urgence" was even a more 
 depressing sight than my ward had been. 
 In the faint light, the men looked ghostly. 
 There was no sound but an occasional 
 moan or cry. Now and then a delirious 
 blesse would lean forward in his bed and 
 shout imaginary orders, or some one else 
 would begin whispering softly, supposing 
 his wife was there. Except for these mo- 
 
112 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ments, the suffering goes on silently with 
 lips set tightly together and sad, patient 
 eyes alone showing what pain there is be- 
 hind the stoicism. Most of them had several 
 wounds, abdominal, pierced skulls, lungs 
 shot through, and compound fractures of 
 the legs. When one man had several of 
 these, there hardly seemed enough flesh 
 left to keep him together. They were kept 
 alive with numerous injections of saline 
 solutions, camphorated oil, ether, and 
 strychnia. Often it was hard to find a place 
 to insert the tiny needle, so covered was 
 the body with bandages, iodine stains, and 
 holes where former injections had been 
 giv'en. Many of the wounds necessitated a 
 change of dressing, and the whole bed re- 
 made every few hours. Another man had a 
 chest wound, the dressings of which had 
 to be undone and ether injected every four 
 hours. Though the nurse of this ward was 
 assisted by a maid and three orderlies, she 
 had more to do with twenty beds than I 
 
AN ATTACK 113 
 
 had without a maid and forty-six. Each 
 of these men could have kept a nurse busy- 
 by himself if only to supply his constant 
 requests for a drink. 
 
 There was nothing special for me to do 
 but watch that no one fell out of bed, so 
 I sat by the stove and read about each 
 case. Some of the wounds were so inde- 
 scribably horrible and numerous that for 
 the poor blesse's sake, I almost hoped that 
 he would not survive. Now and then I got 
 a drink for some feverish one or held the 
 hand of a delirious poilu who thought he 
 was a general. The warmth of mine or the 
 electricity that goes from one being to 
 another seemed to calm him, and he would 
 drift off to sleep. 
 
 The man who was dying was the most 
 pathetic case of all. His body was perfect, 
 and he of all the mangled ones should have 
 been allowed the precious gift of life. Six 
 feet, of strong build, he lay tied in bed 
 with an ice-bag over his head which he 
 
114 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 was trying to push away. His hands and 
 arms became so purple and marked where 
 they were tied, I had to unfasten them, 
 preferring to stand over and watch that 
 no harm come. An " abri " had fallen on his 
 head and he was evidently trying to re- 
 move it. It was dreadful to stand there 
 and watch him dying, powerless to help 
 him. Whoever discovers a cure for shock 
 will give something marvellous to the world. 
 This man died a few hours after I left. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 UNDER FIRE 
 
 ^ I^HE electric switch that hghts our 
 -■- sleeping-barracks is turned off at 
 ten o'clock, so that silence is enforced as 
 rigorously at that hour as at a boarding- 
 school or in Berlin. Not a whisper was 
 heard, only the occasional turning of a 
 page or crackle of a paper showing that 
 some sleepless one was trying to read by 
 candle-light. In the bitter winter weather, 
 when the cold hurt so one could not sleep 
 
 right away no matter how exhausted, B 
 
 and I pulled the dividing sheet away from 
 between our beds and made chocolate, 
 pantomime fashion, in the middle of the 
 night. Our "directrice" teased us after- 
 ward in Paris by telling every one that she 
 was kept awake every night at the front, 
 not by bombs but by the continual stirring 
 
 115 
 
116 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 of chocolate. However, she took pity on us 
 now and then, when December was at its 
 coldest and the four little stoves were mak- 
 ing much soot but no heat, and sent us to 
 bed with something more potent to make 
 us sleep. I have skated at home in zero 
 weather against a biting wind, but I never 
 felt as cold as I did that winter in the Aisne. 
 We were always pushing our beds to a dry 
 part of the room, away from the snow that 
 sifted in. I wore more clothes at night than 
 in the daytime, when, unfortunately, I had 
 to look civilized. 
 
 It is hard to say which was more uncom- 
 fortable, the cold which was always with 
 us or the bombardments which happened 
 now and then. When troops were passing 
 through on their way to the firing-line, a 
 Taube observer would report their position 
 to the air-raid authorities; or when the 
 moonlight enabled them to see the posi- 
 tion of the ammunition centres on either 
 side of our hospital, or just without any 
 
UNDER FIRE 117 
 
 special reason, the enemy planes would fly 
 over our heads and drop bombs. 
 
 The first time they came since my arrival 
 in the war zone I was glad to stay under 
 the covers and my bed seemed a safe, pleas- 
 ant island in a wild, storm-swept sea. The 
 noise was most alarming, like a thousand 
 thunderstorms, and the clamor of the maids 
 in the next barracks added to the terrifying 
 sensation of being under fire. Our windows 
 were covered with heavy black curtains so 
 the room was absolutely dark. I tried to 
 pretend I was at a play. There was some- 
 thing sheltering about the darkness, like a 
 heavy curtain wrapped around to hide and 
 protect one. 
 
 The bombs seemed to be right overhead, 
 and the sky full of screeching, swishing 
 whiz-booms and whangs. Between the 
 crash of a bomb, one could hear the pop- 
 pop of the "mitrailleuses" on the aero- 
 planes, showing that the French were there 
 to protect us, and more distant the loud 
 
118 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 boom of the* antiaircraft guns with their 
 questioning "Warum?" The aeroplanes 
 were so low over our heads that we could 
 hear, in rare pauses, the hum of their en- 
 gines, even distinguishing the French from 
 the German. The patter of shrapnel on our 
 roof like rain made it seem all too realistic 
 for a play. 
 
 The next night my curiosity made me 
 get up and watch from underneath a bit 
 of overhanging roof. It is really the noise 
 that terrifies. It was a wonderful though 
 dreadful sight. The sky was full of signal- 
 rockets and star-shells. Three big search- 
 lights pointed right over our heads, groping 
 now and then like arms, but returning ever 
 to the same place above us. The bombs 
 came with a loud crash and the "eclairants" 
 shells burst with a blaze of light. 
 
 On a moonlight night when the ground 
 is covered with snow, a bombardment has 
 a terrible beauty like giant fireworks. The 
 stars mingle with the rockets and star- 
 
UNDER FIRE 119 
 
 shells and signal-lights. The noise of the 
 unseen antiaircraft cannon and machine- 
 guns on the planes are like thunder in the 
 mountains. It seems as if all the sky were 
 alive and fighting a war too big for man 
 to finish. 
 
 There is an exaltation about being under 
 fire. The realization that any minute may 
 be the last, that each crash may mean 
 the end of life, makes one full of a desire 
 to work hard with a final burst of energy 
 to make up for past years of idleness and 
 the things one might have done, making 
 the last part of life at least worth while. 
 There is even a gladness and pride that 
 one's own courage and skill are being used 
 at such a time of danger and need. 
 
 One can grow so accustomed to the dis- 
 tant cannonading and roll of artillery that 
 they seem to go on like corks popping at a 
 cafe, or thunder rumbling far away. The 
 uncanny shrieks and deafening bangs of 
 a bombardment are another matter, but 
 
120 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 even these noises seem less terrible if one 
 gets up and watches them. 
 
 An air battle in daytime is very interest- 
 ing and so high above and far away that 
 it is not alarming. There may be some 
 danger from falling shrapnel, but never- 
 theless we go to the door and look up at 
 them. The planes are so high we can only : 
 see the puffs of smoke from the "mitrail- 
 leuses," the French puffs being white and 
 the German black. These puffs of explod- 
 ing shell look like soft, fluffy clouds, and 
 when occasionally one does see the aero- 
 plane, it looks like a dragon-fly. The blesses 
 watch these battles with great excitement, 
 calling out advice and instructions to the 
 aviators. 
 
 "There, he goes ! He escapes ! Stupid, 
 follow him ! Look, they leave one French 
 aviator alone with three Boches ! What is 
 the matter with them? There, good, they 
 got that Taube ! See, he falls ! Bravo !" 
 
 There are three large observation-balloons 
 
UNDER FIRE 121 
 
 near us, one German and two French. One 
 day one of these French "saucisses" was 
 surrounded by four black puffs of smoke. 
 No French aeroplane came to the rescue 
 and the great balloon began to descend 
 slowly, a mass of flames, with a trail of 
 smoke. The man escaped from his burning 
 elevator in a parachute. 
 
 I went to the front lines the night before 
 Christmas in an ambulance. Having heard 
 there would be no attack, we took a road 
 forbidden in daytime, right to the trenches. 
 We went first through the small ruined 
 town Flavy-le-Martel, with its roofless, 
 windowless houses looking like ghosts in 
 the snow. Here and there chimneys rose 
 against the dark, moonless sky, like arms 
 reaching for help. The next little ruined 
 village was Jussy, chiefly remarkable for 
 its camouflage hanging over the river and 
 along its banks like banners of "Welcome 
 to Our City" or "Vote for Wilson." 
 
 Something of that first strange thrill that 
 
122 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 had been with me when I began nursing 
 at the front, but which had slowly vanished 
 through the blessing of getting used to 
 things and being constantly among people 
 who took it all as a matter of course, began 
 to return and seize me with renewed vigor 
 as we sped nearer and nearer to the Ger- 
 man lines. Something stronger than my will 
 had adapted me to my new life, and I could 
 not feel above a certain level. I had come 
 to the conclusion that seeing so much 
 that was hideous and horrible and feeling 
 sorry to the utmost extent of my capacity 
 had made me immune to any future ex- 
 citement or enthusiasm. But out here 
 something stirred and quickened my heart 
 again, and I was glad to feel a thrill of 
 excitement. I forgot that I was tired and 
 that the ambulance bumped along uncom- 
 fortably, that the cold wind was piercing 
 through all covering. 
 
 After passing the village of Montescourt 
 we entered a strange, unnatural country. 
 
UNDER FIRE 123 
 
 quite empty. There was no stir, because 
 there was nothing to stir. It reminded me 
 of the poem of "The Walrus and the Car- 
 penter": 
 
 "You could not see a cloud, because ' 
 
 No cloud was in the sky; 
 No birds were flying overhead — 
 There were no birds to fly." 
 
 The snow stretched away into the dis- 
 tance on every side like the Great Salt 
 Lake, melting into the horizon in an in- 
 distinguishable mist of land and sky. It 
 was such an endless expanse of blank white- 
 ness that it made one feel at the end of 
 life or the beginning of eternity. One seemed 
 about to fall over the edge of the world 
 into nothing but space. 
 
 It was a land cut off from the rest of 
 the world. Somewhere people were still 
 dressing up and going to parties and worry- 
 ing about the stocks. But here there was 
 no past or future, nothing but space and 
 shell-holes. 
 
124 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 We did not go into the trenches, as it 
 was forbidden for nurses to ride to the 
 front Hnes in ambulances, and we were not 
 disguised except for the fur caps we wore 
 instead of veils. But we did get out and 
 look at the shell-holes, and learned the 
 difference between a hole twenty feet wide 
 made by what the Tommies call a Jane 
 (12-inch) and a "Jack Johnson," and one 
 known as a "Woolly," deep enough to 
 drown a man. 
 
 On the way back we passed dreary 
 columns of troops returning from the 
 trenches. I felt so sorry for those other 
 lines of men trudging out to relieve them. 
 Stiff with cold, even in the car, tired and 
 aching from a big day's work and the jolt- 
 ing ride, I wondered if anything was worth 
 all this. It seemed so futile, all this struggling 
 and misery in order that one army of frozen 
 men could take some snowy, uncomfortable 
 holes in the ground away from another 
 army, equally wretched, fighting for acres 
 
UNDER FIRE 125 
 
 of snow! It was, as Barbusse says, "one 
 great army committing suicide." 
 
 I could understand why Joffre's men 
 stayed by their fires in spite of the advance 
 of the Germans. Our barracks were such 
 a cold prospect to return to, that I believe if 
 I had seen a big roaring fire on the German 
 side of that cold, white plane, I would have 
 walked right up to it and refused to leave 
 until I had thawed out thoroughly for the 
 first time since winter came. 
 
 I wondered if the war was trying to turn 
 the world into a dead, burnt-up place like 
 the moon. And yet overhead were the same 
 stars that I had watched with such faith 
 on the steamer only a few months ago. 
 Only a few months, and yet how long it 
 seemed and how little I had then known of 
 war ! The very thought of my blind enthu- 
 siasm and innocent eagerness made me feel 
 old and very tired. 
 
 I had discovered that life so near the 
 roar of the guns and groans of the wounded 
 
126 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 was a blind existence. The fatalism of the 
 front is what makes the ghastliness bear- 
 able. The past is so very far away and the 
 future so uncertain that there is only the 
 present to cling to and make the most 
 of. It is hard, but you somehow stumble 
 along, "fed up" but "sticking it." Living 
 on the edge of eternity this way raises one's 
 working efficiency to a higher rate. Life 
 increases in value as its moments decrease. 
 When strong men cry and hold your hand 
 like children lost in the dark, you cannot 
 leave them. You must stay and work and 
 comfort and cheer and help all you can 
 until the light comes. It may be your last 
 chance. 
 
 Homes and lives may be lost, but while 
 one can serve there is something left to go 
 on living for. Service brings its own peace 
 even in the midst of war. It is the only 
 religion that remains in the suffering. There 
 is no hardening in hospital work if one 
 can only put enough of one's self into the 
 
UNDER FIRE 127 
 
 service. While I work I am as happy as I 
 can be in a world full of fighting and hatred 
 and pain. And yet I couldn't help thinking 
 bitterly as I slipped between icy blankets 
 (sheets had been discarded since the cold 
 weather): "What a Christmas Eve!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 FETES 
 
 TT is the telling about war work that 
 -*• makes it interesting. At the time it is 
 as tiresome and monotonous as any phys- 
 ical labor carried on day after day. The 
 danger and dreary sameness in which we 
 live force us to seek distraction. We are 
 always looking for entertainment, not so 
 much as a rest and change from the physical 
 strain, but from the nervous tension. As 
 an English officer said: 
 
 "War is damn dull, damn dirty, and 
 damn dangerous." 
 
 We could not endure our existence if 
 we did not have the precious gift of for- 
 getting ourselves in laughter. It was almost 
 as hard to be cheerful on days when nothing 
 happened as it was during a bombardment. 
 
 .128 
 
FfiTES 129 
 
 It takes so much courage and faith to re- 
 sist boredom and weariness. 
 
 During the coldest weather there was 
 Httle fighting, most of the new cases being 
 accidents. My "entrants" walked in with 
 blankets over their shoulders and their 
 long bare legs hanging down forlornly from 
 the inadequate shirt given them in the 
 triage when their own clothes had been 
 taken away until necessary. Between ar- 
 rivals and departures I had more doctors 
 than patients and felt as if my ward were 
 a raihoad-station. 
 
 There was a rumor that we were to 
 evacuate and that the English would take 
 our part of the front. Our one-sheeted news- 
 paper did not give us the information the 
 people in America were getting each day. 
 And yet we could watch the spirit of the 
 fighting men and hear rumors of action 
 ahead of time and have a wonderful op- 
 portunity of watching the greatest spectac- 
 ular performance in the world from a front 
 
130 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 seat, as it were. We were too close for news, 
 so we kept on sending men to the interior, 
 gradually emptying the hospital. The work 
 dragged on. 
 
 We had only our work and quarrels to 
 talk about. I suppose wherever a few people 
 are gathered together there will be friction. 
 However, when our barracks showed signs 
 of falling apart, and much whispering went 
 on on both sides of the dividing sheet like 
 
 conspiring criminals, Madame G saved 
 
 the situation by pinning on the door a copy 
 of the sign seen in all railroad trains: 
 
 "Taisez-vous ! Mefiez-vous ! 
 
 "Les oreilles ennemies vous ecoutent." 
 
 Our directrice summed up our feelings 
 and situation at this time of coldness and 
 inactivity by saying: 
 
 "After the war Joffre and Petain will 
 be sitting at a little table in a cafe along 
 the boulevard, telling each other stories 
 of the great war. Suddenly Joffre will stop 
 in the midst of some reminiscence to ask: 
 
> 
 
FfiTES 131 
 
 " *By the way, whatever became of 
 those hospital units you sent up to the 
 Aisne in 1917 with the Third Army?' 
 
 "Whereupon Petain will clasp his fore- 
 head and exclaim: 
 
 " *Mon Dieu, I forgot all about them! 
 Do you suppose they are still there ? ' " 
 
 Though I could have taken time off, I 
 preferred to stay in the ward, doing extra 
 work, however unnecessary. I was happier 
 with the blesses than anywhere else. They 
 had undertaken to perfect my French, 
 teaching me in various accents. One time 
 a delirious entrant had given an angry 
 cry: 
 
 *'0h, there are Boches here !" hitting the 
 air wildly, when I tried to persuade him 
 that he would be more comfortable in bed 
 than on the floor. 
 
 Escaping from the danger zone, I told 
 Meyran to watch him, while a "fiUeul" 
 in the next bed explained to him that I 
 was not German, and that in a short time 
 
132 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 he would grow accustomed to my American 
 accent. When he recovered he began giving 
 me French lessons, as an apology, I suppose. 
 He did not allow me to "sing" or drawl, 
 but made me hurry along staccato, in one 
 tone deep in the throat. The whole ward 
 helped with the matter of gender. I tried 
 to compromise by having one day all mascu- 
 line and the next feminine, but this did not 
 suit my instructors. Protests of "la tete" 
 or "le lit" would come from every side, 
 punctuating my attempts at conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Most of the blesses have been decorated 
 with the "croix de guerre" for valor, or 
 the "medaille militaire" (and a pension) 
 for the mutilated ones. This is an impres- 
 sive ceremony, though it happens so often. 
 Sometimes one man will receive both decora- 
 tions. The citation is read by the "medecin- 
 chef," followed by a kiss on each cheek. 
 The whole ward compliment the hero, and 
 the walking delegates shake hands with 
 
FETES 133 
 
 him. It always makes me rather sad. The 
 two httle medals pinned on the patched 
 shirt of some "ampute" do not seem a fair 
 exchange for a leg or an arm. They look sort 
 of cheap. It is the reading of the citation 
 that thrills me. There is a colored man at 
 the Equitable Trust in Paris who told me 
 his son had been missing almost a year. 
 He recited a long citation his son had 
 received for several remarkable deeds, hav- 
 ing learned it completely by heart. 
 
 The blesses could tell many stories if they 
 wanted to, but they don't. They are past 
 that. Most of them must have had splen- 
 did deeds of heroism behind their wounds. 
 Even if there had been time for conversa- 
 tion they were too weak and feverish to 
 have their strength taxed this way for 
 curiosity. Later, when the worst is over, 
 they do not refer to the past. I thought 
 it kinder to help them forget. Others who 
 care less, and were not so busy, can tell 
 the stories. I only want to show the blesses 
 
134 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 as I knew them, telling only what I saw 
 and dwelling on the horrible side as little 
 as possible. 
 
 Sometimes there is a moving-picture 
 show, and all who can limp or stand the 
 strain of being carried on a stretcher to 
 another part of the hospital are allowed to 
 go. There is much excitement when this 
 happens. The lucky ones go off with so 
 much joy, I felt sorry for those who were 
 left. This is how our concerts started. Of 
 course we had always had "phono fetes" 
 for a while each afternoon when there were 
 no "entrants" or "operes." But this went 
 on while I was working, and though I was 
 amused at the absurdity of washing feet 
 to the tune of "Tipperary" or "Old Black 
 Joe," it was not much of "fete" for me. 
 They hked to resurrect old American dance- 
 music for my benefit, and burst out laugh- 
 ing at the nasal twang of our popular 
 vaudeville voices. Little did I realize a few 
 years before, while dancing at a college 
 
FfiTES 135 
 
 prom or Sherry's, that I would be cutting 
 nails (and using both hands, for they were 
 tough) to those same merry dance-tunes. 
 
 When the others had gone to the 
 "cinema" there was little for me to do, 
 so I decided to amuse the unfortunate ones 
 who were left behind. I sang to them in 
 Italian, a few Neapolitan street-songs; in 
 English, especially ragtime for the drag 
 and rag pleases them; and in French, their 
 own popular songs and marches, and some 
 American ragtime I heard translated in 
 Parisian vaudevilles. "They Didn't Be- 
 lieve Me" and "Hello, My Dearie," sound 
 almost sensible in a foreign language. 
 
 After that, in the evening when no one 
 was in great pain, in the interim between 
 "soupe" and sleep, while I gave the rubs 
 and tucked them in for the night, there 
 would be a concert. It was really a most 
 serious and formal event. Mayou was master 
 of ceremonies, walking up and down the 
 ward commanding order, with a little cane 
 
136 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 hooked over the end of his left arm where 
 his hand used to be. 
 
 Some of them have very good voices. 
 I Hke to hear "Monsieur le Cultivateur" 
 sing my favorite selections from Puccini, 
 Massenet, and Saint-Saens. In spite of 
 my great love of music, these peasants 
 often shame me by their superior knowledge 
 of grand opera. 
 
 The "adjudant" sings most dramatic 
 pieces, and almost flings himself out of 
 bed in the excitement of "Le Dernier 
 Tango." Frangois's eyes twinkle wickedly 
 as he sings "Nous avons tons fait ga. Plus 
 ou moin, n'est-ce pas?" or some improper 
 ballad that the French appreciate. I do 
 not understand the most improper, and 
 airs are always pretty, so I do not mind. 
 
 Some of the performers have not good 
 voices and yet insist upon taking part. 
 This is often quite trying, especially when 
 it is a "sergent" who wishes to honor us. 
 Their songs are even longer than those 
 
FETES 137 
 
 sung by the good voices as if, in defiance 
 of criticism, they would show their superior- 
 ity in memory if not in musical ability. 
 Nothing will stop them until every verse 
 is done, and some of the popular songs have 
 so many, many verses. If they get hoarse 
 or choke, and are unable to go on, I am 
 summoned and must administer a cure. 
 So in the midst of our soiree the sound of 
 gargling is often heard as an interlude. 
 But no one laughs if "Mon coeur s'ouvre 
 a ta voix" has strange variations, for, 
 though extempore, this concert is a serious 
 affair. Even I am reprimanded severely by 
 Mayou when I speak, if only to ask if some 
 one is comfortable or am I hurting him by 
 rubbing too vigorously. 
 
 I like the marching songs in which the 
 whole ward joins for the chorus: "Quand 
 Madelon vient nous servir a boire," 
 "Marche Lorraine," and "Paname" (a sort 
 of Paris "Tipperary"). I taught them a 
 French version of "Over There." Some of 
 
138 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 them are eager to learn English and like 
 songs that have a few words like "Tout le 
 long de la Tamise." They know a little of 
 "Smile, Smile, Smile," and all of them come 
 in with a "smile" whenever there is a 
 chance. We are rather proud of our chorus, 
 but some one coming in to borrow aspirin, 
 remarked crushingly that she "never heard 
 such a noise, every one in a different key." 
 Tant pis ! 
 
 They are afraid I will be lonely or bored 
 and treat me with a fatherly solicitude 
 mingled with a kind of awed respect, because 
 I have come such a long way from home 
 across a dangerous ocean, and have settled 
 down so near the front lines. Not being a 
 travelling race like ours, this impresses them 
 a great deal. I am quite a curiosity and 
 source of unfailing interest from my Ameri- 
 can accent to my American shoes. When I 
 have letters, they are most interested. 
 
 "Look, Mademoiselle has a long letter 
 from her fiance." 
 
FETES 139 
 
 "No, no, Pierre, that is the writing of 
 her brother. She gives me the envelopes, 
 for I Hke to have American stamps." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, you have many broth- 
 ers," said one sceptically. 
 
 They wanted to hear about my brothers 
 and the various camps they were in. They 
 were also most anxious about my future, 
 and asked me repeatedly if I had a fiance, 
 and if I would marry a Frenchman or an 
 American. 
 
 When an American ambulance boy was 
 brought into my ward, their excitement 
 was intense. With their love of romance, 
 they looked forward with much interest 
 to what to them was my opportunity. 
 
 I tried not to be partial, though it was 
 a relief to speak English again. He had 
 broken his arm cranking a Ford at an am- 
 bulance section near us. Bored to death, 
 he roamed around with his right arm in a 
 plaster cast. He was always hungry, and 
 I have to admit that the French food for 
 
140 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 wounded is not very substantial for a 
 healthy American appetite, so I smuggled 
 some of my pudding from lunch, and gave 
 him a party hidden away in my little room 
 at the back of the ward, where the blesses 
 could not see that he was being treated 
 better than they were. 
 
 He was very popular and made me quite 
 jealous. One blesse claimed him as a friend 
 because he had brought him to the hospital 
 in his ambulance, so they had their meals 
 
 together at a little table by the stove. C 
 
 could not appreciate his table manners as 
 much as his devotion, and often begged 
 me to sing, especially while the soup was 
 being consumed. He cheered them up and 
 gave them a perpetual "fete," having a 
 generous supply of cigarettes and crackers. 
 "Monsieur le Valet*' gave him French 
 lessons. His favorite amusement was stroll- 
 ing out of the ward and getting the "bran- 
 cardiers" to carry him in on a stretcher. At 
 the cry of "Un entrant!" I would hurry 
 
FfiTES 141 
 
 up with the orderlies, and C would 
 
 roll off on an empty bed to the huge ap- 
 preciation of the whole ward. Coquelle 
 was so fond of his cough-drops that he 
 munched them continually, even after his 
 operation before he was allowed a drink, 
 and said he didn't care if they made him 
 ill, he liked them. 
 
 Sometimes C would have visitors 
 
 from his ambulance section. They would 
 take the place by storm. The "phono" 
 would play and attract some of the younger 
 "aides-majors." One of them had a kind of 
 flute that he whistled through. They asked 
 me to sing "the song that was sung when 
 the Lusitania went down," so I got part 
 way through "Nearer, My God, to Thee," 
 until the Americans told me not to be such 
 a gloom. Then we tried the "Star-Spangled 
 Banner" by request, starting three times 
 before we got the pitch that was not a 
 growl at the start, and yet would not take 
 us beyond our powers at the end. It was 
 
142 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 not a success, but I redeemed myself by 
 singing all three verses of the "Marseil- 
 laise." To be truly patriotic, the Ameri- 
 cans present rendered "Dixie" and "Over 
 There." By order of the "major" (I insisted 
 that it be a military command) I danced 
 with several of the guests, to the immense 
 satisfaction and flattering approval of the 
 blesses, and the horror of the caporal, who 
 was a priest. 
 
 When any of the visitors came to take 
 pictures, there was a wild scramble for 
 any sort of clothing available. Men that I 
 had thought were beyond caring for any- 
 thing but sleep and peace would stand 
 around in the snow with long lavender 
 bed-socks pulled up to their knees over 
 faded and patched pa jama trousers and a 
 sweater or blanket around them. If they 
 had their kepi they could pose happily 
 and with dignity for hours. There were so 
 many demands for pictures that we some- 
 times had to pretend to take them in order 
 
FETES 143 
 
 to get them back to bed. Then some time 
 exposures had to be attempted for those 
 who could not get up, or there would be 
 tears. Such babies, these great bearded 
 godsons of mine ! 
 
 Sometimes in the evening I wrote letters 
 for those who cannot use their hands. They 
 
 liked to hear C dictating his with a 
 
 few French expressions. However, it was 
 a little embarrassing having him there, and 
 I was rather relieved when the medecin- 
 chef allowed him to be sent to Doctor 
 Blake's in Paris. He had never been in a 
 hospital before, and seemed more human 
 than the French whom I treated like 
 children and thought of as a neuter class 
 of simply blesses. 
 
 One day, soon after his arrival, C 
 
 had asked me where he could take a bath. 
 When I told him to wait before getting 
 dressed until I came — I would give him the 
 only kind available — he did not look very 
 enthusiastic over the idea, and was not in 
 
144 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the ward when I arrived next day. His 
 doctor was annoyed and muttered some- 
 thing disparaging to the eaporal about 
 Americans who never understood mihtary 
 disciphne. I was rather worried about his 
 A. W. O. L. Seeing my anxiety, the blesses 
 teased: 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle, he no longer loves 
 you. You^ have been too cold and cruel. 
 He has gone away forever." 
 
 At last he appeared in the doorway in 
 his sheepskin coat covered with snow. I 
 hurried up with a scolding. 
 
 "Well, you see, Inferior Major," he 
 began, calling me his interpretation of my 
 explication that I was infirmiere-major of 
 that ward, "I just had to get a bath. Yours 
 would have been all right, but I wanted 
 the kind I was used to taking for six sous. 
 Please don't be cross. I promise never to 
 take another if it's going to bother you so 
 much." 
 
 The time for the second injection of anti- 
 
FETES 145 
 
 tetanus was a trying one, and much dreaded 
 by the victim and me. They all felt that 
 the first "piqlire" received upon their 
 entrance in the triage was enough, and 
 this second one an insult to their present 
 state of recovery and well-being. Camphor- 
 ated oil or morphia, when ordered by the 
 doctor, were accepted without a murmur, 
 but this antitetanus in the stomach seemed 
 to hurt more. I did not like to give it, and 
 they made matters worse. The walking 
 delegates would run to the other end of the 
 long, narrow ward or hide under the beds. 
 The "Begonias" would help me trace an 
 escaping one, entering the game with great 
 zest, crying, "Here he is! See! Under this 
 bed," as he rolled from one end of the ward 
 to the other, while I pursued him, holding 
 the tray with syringe, compresses, and 
 iodine aloft out of a contact that would 
 unsterilize my work. 
 
 Whatever the trials of the day, we would 
 always part friends, and I would leave the 
 
146 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ward at night amid a chorus of "Bonne 
 nuit, Mademoiselle Marraine," and an oc- 
 casional "Good-by" or "Sleep well." They 
 often say these English words if I leave 
 the ward in the daytime on an errand. 
 They tell me how much my smiles help 
 them, and do not understand that it is 
 they who keep me "toujours gaie, toujours 
 souriante." They are so brave, but one can 
 be wretchedly unhappy while being brave 
 and really would not be brave unless one 
 suffered. 
 
 It is in the hospital that the true courage 
 is shown in this war. The old-time tactics 
 and strategy and romance of the sword 
 have been revolutionized by modern in- 
 ventions. War of movement has practically 
 been replaced by war of position. There is 
 little opportunity for individual heroism and 
 achievement when war is run on such a 
 business basis, with the men fighting like 
 members of a firm trying to put a big deal 
 across. Machinery and poison-gas and 
 
FfiTES 147 
 
 T. N. T. are winning the war. In such a 
 contest, victory will come in the end to 
 the side with the biggest numbers, the 
 largest purse, and the most enduring nerves. 
 But in the hospital the old-time Spartan 
 fortitude and heroic endurance go on every 
 day as each individual fights his own battle 
 against pain. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR 
 NO. 7 
 
 AS an interruption of the daily routine, 
 ■^ ^ we sometimes have an inspection by 
 a general or several generals at once. The 
 caporal warns me when this is to take place 
 and there is a great house-cleaning. The 
 whole ward must be scrubbed and smoothed 
 out, cobwebs swept from the ceiling, every 
 little table overhauled and books, papers, 
 and games put away, all as quickly as pos- 
 sible. The men must stay either in bed or 
 near it, keeping as clean as they can. This 
 is a great strain, as no one knows at what 
 moment the generals will appear. After 
 waiting indefinitely in a painfully immacu- 
 late condition, they are apt to arrive in- 
 considerately at the inauspicious moment 
 
 148 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 149 
 
 of "soupe," when every one is clamoring 
 for more potatoes, eating noisily, or using 
 a towel or a sleeve instead of the napkin 
 hung beside their bed. 
 
 The generals walk slowly through the 
 ward, accompanied by the medecin-chef 
 and other privileged officers. Sometimes 
 they stop to inquire about a wound. One of 
 them stopped in front of Riviere's huddled 
 form. With Carrel tubes reaching up his 
 back, he looked like a monkey on a chain. 
 However, this wound did not matter to 
 him. He accepted it philosophically as part 
 of the war. When the general asked kindly: 
 
 "And where were you wounded, mon 
 petit.?" 
 
 "In the operating-room, my general," 
 Riviere replied, saluting solemnly. 
 
 One of the "ministerielles," in her zeal 
 to help, had burned him with a hot-water 
 bag during his operation. I cannot imagine 
 why the doctor did not notice. Poor Riviere 
 suffered more from this unnecessary wound 
 
150 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 than from the original one, which was bad 
 enough, causing him to remain ever in a 
 sitting posture, except at night, when the 
 Carrel tubes were disconnected. I was so 
 upset about this accident that Madame 
 
 G offered to treat him with the new 
 
 method of ambrine. She dressed his burn 
 during the lunch-hour so I could help her. 
 I was so interested that I went to the "Mis- 
 sion de r Ambrine" when we went "en 
 repos," and took the course. 
 
 The process of heahng burns in this way 
 is very simple and easily learned. The treat- 
 ment is without pain, which seems unbe- 
 Uevable when one sees huge raw wounds. 
 We took Riviere to the "salle de panse- 
 ments" instead of doing his dressing in the 
 ward, partly because the apparatus was 
 easier to manage there, and also because 
 of the frightful odor of the old dressings 
 when they were removed. 
 
 Little by little, the new skin gains over 
 the raw space. Wounds that have been 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 151 
 
 treated with ambrlne heal without a scar. 
 Even faces that have been badly burned 
 are left clear and unmarred. It can only 
 be used, however, on thoroughly clean, 
 disinfected wounds, as it has no antiseptic 
 properties. But a burn is never very septic, 
 so that the wound is usually clean if it is 
 not too deep. When not perfectly clean, the 
 wound may be treated with "serum phy- 
 siologique" or "huile gomenolee" or a 
 "pansement humide" for two days instead 
 of ambrine. 
 
 Ambrine gets its name from being the 
 color of amber. It was first used for rheuma- 
 tism. The idea is so simple that it seems 
 strange no one thought of using it for burns 
 before. Paraffin is taken at fifty-two degrees, 
 a hundred parts for five or ten parts of 
 gutta-percha, which makes the paraffin 
 supple. This mixture, which looks like 
 cakes of maple-sugar, is placed in an auto- 
 clave or popinal at one hundred and thirty 
 degrees under pressure of one and one-half 
 
152 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 kilograms for four hours. It Is then left in 
 water at eighty degrees until used. 
 
 The solution must never be boiled, as the 
 petrol gases will be liberated, and this vapor 
 is inflammable. Ambrine cools much more 
 slowly than water. When applied on a 
 wound at fifty degrees, it will only have 
 lost five or six degrees by the next day. 
 It does not burn and can even be used at 
 sixty degrees on an open wound. Applied 
 hot, it is liquid, but hardens when cooler, 
 forming a supple shell, covering the wound, 
 but separate from it and non-adhesive. 
 Under the influence of the heat, the tissue 
 dilates and mends itself. 
 
 The chief advantages of this treatment 
 are its entire absence of pain, the quickness 
 of the healing on account of so little loss 
 of substance (the dermis not being de- 
 stroyed), and the good quality of the cica- 
 trice. Instead of putting the blesse to sleep 
 during his operation, his wound is put 
 to sleep for twenty-four hours, which en- 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 153 
 
 courages the epidermis to grow and the 
 new skin to form and gain over the burned 
 part. Unlike other dressings, it does not 
 stick to the wound, so there is no puUing 
 or tearing of the tissue in taking it off. 
 After three days, white begins to appear 
 around the edges and white spots form in 
 the middle of the wound. These are new 
 living cells. If this treatment does not suc- 
 ceed, the wound cannot be clean. It is the 
 first dressing that aids nature, and is also 
 used for eczema and frozen feet. 
 
 The method of applying ambrine is an 
 important factor. I will tell you how Ma- 
 dame G treated Riviere. First, she 
 
 removed the dressing and dead skin, puUing 
 gently with forceps or cutting with scissors, 
 but never touching with her hands or an 
 unsterilized instrument or tearing any but 
 loose pieces. She washed the wound with 
 a solution of salt water, "eau oxygenee," or 
 Dakin, using a glass tube so that only the 
 solution touched the wound. The edges 
 
154 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 were then cleaned with alcohol or ether, 
 and afterward zinc oxide or sterilized vase- 
 line was appHed. She dried the surface 
 thoroughly with warm air. If not dried 
 well, the ambrine will heat the water and 
 burn. The ambrine is squirted on the wound 
 with an atomizer or painted on with a 
 brush sterilized for each dressing. When 
 the surface is white, a thin layer of steril- 
 ized absorbent cotton is quickly put on to 
 keep the heat and another coat of ambrine 
 which clings to the cotton, forming a cover 
 more supple than compresses. Both kinds 
 of cotton are then wrapped around the 
 dressing, held in place by moist band- 
 ages. 
 
 Every wound that came to us was in- 
 fected and it was remarkable the way the 
 men recovered. When every opening was 
 filled with earth, bits of clothing, mud, and 
 even flowers, there must be immense sepsis. 
 Perhaps the microbes in the fields are not 
 as deadly as those in crowded cities. The 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 155 
 
 men who had led healthy, moderate lives, 
 especially peasants who had lived out-of- 
 doors, of course, had the advantage. The 
 men in the wards made better progress than 
 the oflScers who were isolated. The officers' 
 ward was usually empty except for a few 
 beds clustered forlornly at one end. 
 
 Although the military disciphne of our 
 hospital was as rigid as that in the army, 
 the "medecin-chef" being generalissimo, 
 there was the same off-duty "camaraderie" 
 among "majors" and poilus that I had 
 noticed in Paris when officers and their 
 men chatted together at the same table in 
 a cafe. It seems, when off duty, the poilu 
 can say what he likes with the freedom of 
 a Roman soldier to the centurions. How- 
 ever, the collapse of the Russian army 
 shows that only highly intelligent and pa- 
 triotic soldiers can be allowed such license. 
 The tie of service brings all dreams of 
 brotherhood true, whether the French gen- 
 eral calls his men "mes petits soldats" or 
 
156 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the British officer loves his men at a dis- 
 tance, as Robert Nichols expresses it: 
 
 "Was there love once? I have forgotten her. 
 Was there grief once? Grief still is mine. 
 Other loves I have; men rough, but men who stir 
 More joy, more grief, than love of thee and 
 thme." 
 
 There is great confusion in the ward 
 when a train of evacuation goes. The eve- 
 ning before, those who can walk gather 
 around the stove, and we sing and drink 
 "To the end of the war." Each "evacue" 
 gets a farewell friction and my initials in 
 iodine on his chest besides a clean bandage 
 for the journey. 
 
 Next day the caporal brings in a mass 
 of uniforms and the personal effects taken 
 from the men on their arrival. These have 
 to be sorted out and each returned to the 
 proper owner, even to the special "bidon" 
 for wine. Socks, shirts, and anything de- 
 stroyed or lost are replaced from the hos- 
 pital supply. Each blesse has his papers 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 157 
 
 in a large envelope tied to a button of his 
 coat, making him look like a helpless little 
 child travelling alone for the first time. 
 They are quite pathetic in their misfit uni- 
 forms, many of them bearing decorations 
 pinned proudly on the shabby coat that 
 has seen rough service, others wearing their 
 glory and reward inside their chests or 
 shining in their eyes. 
 
 It is hard to see them go, all these men 
 whose sufferings I have shared, and with 
 whom I have experienced the joys a^ well 
 as the horrors of war. They come to us 
 with tears of pain and leave us in tears of 
 regret, some to their homes as "reformes," 
 some to base-hospitals, others back to the 
 front after a furlough. 
 
 Before the train leaves, I make a tour 
 of inspection and am glad when I see the 
 name of Mrs. W. K. Vanderbilt on the side 
 of a car as well as the usual red crosses, 
 for then I know there is a clean little *'salle 
 de pansements " and a neat blue-and-white 
 
158 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 kitchen. The officers have a special car, 
 but the poilus are herded into box-stalls 
 hastily arranged with swinging stretchers, 
 two rows deep. I try to make them com- 
 fortable with little pillows under their 
 heads and backs. 
 
 My blesses get so shuffled up in the 
 process of embarkation that I run dis- 
 tractedly with flying cape and veil to find 
 them and give them cigarettes and choco- 
 late. However, if any one thinks he is being 
 overlooked he calls me, so no one is left 
 out. We wave as the train pulls out, calling 
 "Aurevoir!" and "Bonne chance!" until 
 they are gone. 
 
 "I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing 
 you in America soon" is a universal am- 
 bition. I suppose they have grown curious 
 about us, or does the almighty dollar lure 
 them from an impoverished country.^ By 
 their letters of appreciation I still have 
 news of them and can follow each one from 
 hospital to hospital, at his home, or in the 
 
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EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 159 
 
 trenclies, from a quiet rest "cantonnement" 
 to the second line of the Boches, through 
 all their danger and hardships, work and 
 pleasures. 
 
 They make me feel as if I had two coun- 
 tries, my own and France. Work with her 
 men in her hour of need has bound me more 
 closely than months of travel and pleasure 
 could have done. I have made friends that 
 will last beyond the war. What matter 
 where they come from or what they did 
 before? They are worth remembering now 
 and I am deeply touched when any of them 
 greet me later, meeting by chance in Paris. 
 
 The poilu is unaware of his fineness, and 
 yet there is some unconscious solace in his 
 heart, the only thing man-made or God- 
 made that war cannot take from him. He 
 is brave as a matter of course because it is 
 the better way. He rather regrets that it 
 is necessary to be a soldier, and lets poets 
 talk about it instead of doing so himself. 
 The doctors are the ones who glory in being 
 
160 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 military. But, though war has no glamour 
 for him and life is dear, it is not so dear 
 as France and honor. 
 
 When his wounds hurt or a long-expected 
 letter fails to arrive, he grumbles, cursing 
 the government and calling all those behind 
 the Hues slackers, but, except for these 
 moments of depression and the agony of 
 dressings or operations, he is contented 
 enough. He does not worry about his future, 
 but takes what comes as stoically as he 
 can. These newsboys, apothecaries' clerks, 
 carters, scene-shifters, blacksmiths, and 
 porters are not the ones to philosophize 
 about life. They are not morbid or senti- 
 mental and do not talk religion. They hate 
 war and long for peace; but even more they 
 hate those who do not take an active part 
 in it, and feel a contempt for any one who 
 tries to get peace without fighting for it. 
 There seems to be an unexpressed convic- 
 tion among them that this war must be 
 fought to a finish, not only to the annihila- 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR NO. 7 161 
 
 tion of the Hun, but the end of all wars. 
 Lifted out of their pre-war selves, they do 
 their duty with the tenacity of the conunon, 
 necessary man in the line. 
 
 English and American wounded are rest- 
 less and their spirits require activity, but 
 the Frenchman can lie in bed month after 
 month discussing politics, reading, and writ- 
 ing letters. His stoicism under great pain 
 is incredible, and though he comes from 
 the humblest of homes, his education gives 
 him some interest to fall back on. He is 
 childishly unselfconscious, and his imag- 
 ination and never-failing sense of humor 
 make a game or joke of misfortune. He 
 is always appreciative, refined, and gentle, 
 sharing any present that may come for 
 him with his comrades and never forgetting 
 to offer some to me. 
 
 When in uniform. Tommy is undoubtedly 
 more "chic." I have never seen a poilu in 
 a uniform that fitted him. The long, bulky 
 overcoat with its long-waisted belt makes 
 
162 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 him look like a tramp. "Sac au dos," and 
 laden with all their impedimenta, they look 
 like an army of White Knights walking 
 out of Alice's "Looking Glass" world. Their 
 humor shows in their eyes and their mental 
 attitude about things, giving expression 
 and mobility to their faces, which are usu- 
 ally well modelled and sensitive and almost 
 never fat. Though my heart aches when I 
 see them, they soon make me forget their 
 pain in their glory. The French may not 
 be sports in our American and English 
 athletic sense of the word, but for stoic 
 endurance, self-sacrifice, and heroism they 
 are the best of sports. They keep alive the 
 spirit of France, though its morale may 
 weaken in the rear. 
 
 When my ward was empty, I went to 
 the emergency ward to help with the serious 
 cases that could not be moved till the last 
 minute. The ward is full of feverish men 
 constantly asking for drinks. There is one 
 with a chest wound who, forbidden to speak. 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR No. 7 163 
 
 calls "Sist !" more loudly than the rest and 
 more often. He is from the "midi," and for 
 some reason, which I have never been able 
 to discover, these "midi" men are not 
 popular.* They are usually the ones who 
 swear hysterically and their bodies are tat- 
 tooed. "Sist" is covered with beautiful 
 women. I try to rub them out when I give 
 him a friction, and it always amuses him 
 to have me say, "Disparu," when I cover 
 them with powder so he can blow it off 
 again and reveal his fair escort as before. 
 "They" are his wife, so he considers it 
 quite all right to have them. 
 
 There are some who worry about their 
 temperatures and almost turn their faces 
 inside out trying to see their eyes and 
 tongues at the same time in tiny cracked 
 mirrors. Three "amputes" owe their lives 
 to orderlies who gave some of their blood 
 for a transfusion. "They are going to do 
 
 *The troops who retreated when the Germans took Alsace- 
 Lorraine were from the midi. Hence their reputation as cowards. 
 
164 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 a confusion," one of the English told me, 
 and it was a good description. The blood 
 is carried by instalments in a syringe from 
 one end of the room to the other, as the 
 orderly is put in the first unoccupied bed, 
 and the one to be saved is usually far 
 up in the ward, near the stove. There is 
 a large audience of doctors, medical stu- 
 dents, infirmieres, ministerielles, and order- 
 lies. 
 
 Smoking is forbidden in this ward of 
 "grands blesses," but one day I found a 
 package haK-fuU on Erard the "artilleur's" 
 table. He has a Carrel tube in his head 
 which he calls a telephone and reprimands 
 me for using it so often. When I took his 
 cigarettes, he said: 
 
 "They are good to eat, my friends. Didn't 
 I tell you.f^ See, the little Mademoiselle 
 wants to try the rest." 
 
 The wounds were of all kinds, one man 
 often having several. Sometimes they have 
 lain neglected for days before being dis- 
 
EVACUATION OF AUTO CHIR No. 7 165 
 
 covered. One of them who had a frightful 
 back told me he had received additional 
 wounds while waiting to be picked up. The 
 Germans had a habit of slashing and shoot- 
 ing the wounded as they passed over them. 
 As I looked at the inevitable "eclats" 
 treasured by the men, I learned about 
 shells and bullets. 
 
 Shell wounds were frequent, an "eclat 
 d'obus" often tearing a whole limb away, 
 for these shells are intended to destroy 
 fortified towns. Shrapnel is for people. It 
 is a metal case holding dozens of bullets, 
 perhaps a half-inch in diameter, packed 
 by hand, carrying a charge of explosives 
 timed to burst when it reaches its destina- 
 tion. Being smooth and round, the bullets 
 go through soft tissue without much in- 
 jury, but when they strike a bone they 
 flatten and cause frightful pain. There is a 
 barbaric German bullet, short and pointed, 
 which when it strikes turns a somersault 
 and goes in backward. The base having 
 
166 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 been thus protected spreads, and the result 
 is ghastly. 
 
 Sheets are hung around the beds of the 
 dying, and the priest comes quietly through 
 the back door, but every one knows what 
 has happened. It is hard to be cheerful 
 in this ward of strain and silence, and yet 
 I feel more one of them, as if I had earned 
 the right to be "Sister," as the English call 
 their military nurses. 
 
 There were a few British wounded before 
 we left. They were hurt by bombardments 
 or accidents on their way to the front.^In 
 the evening they would gather in groups 
 for close harmony, singing hymns and 
 other melancholy selections. They asked 
 me to join them, but I hated to spoil it, 
 and, besides, did not care for their pathetic 
 strains. Perhaps they were chosen out of 
 respect to the more serious cases or maybe 
 every Tommy is sentimental under a gruff 
 and hearty exterior. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ARRIVAL OF THE BRITISH 
 FIFTH ARMY 
 
 ^ I ^HE long-rumored arrival of the British 
 -*• became an actual fact. Khaki-clad 
 troops passed our hospital, swinging along 
 to various gay tunes played by the first 
 band I had heard outside of a vaudeville 
 since I came to France. They were quite 
 a contrast to the silent marching of the 
 French as they returned, gray and tired, 
 from their hard winter in the trenches. 
 The smart-looking officers might have been 
 riding in Hyde Park, so little did they sug- 
 gest the ghastliness of the war they were 
 going into. With every button on every 
 Tommy's uniform shining and even the 
 harness on the work-horses gleaming in 
 the sun, they all looked as if they were 
 
 167 
 
/ 
 / 
 
 168 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 off on a lark. And yet their English voices 
 singing songs I had often sung at home 
 made war seem nearer. 
 
 The road was a whirl of action. Army- 
 scouts hurried noisily by on motorcycles. 
 Military motor-cars and ambulances sped 
 by. An occasional London motor-bus 
 crowded with more singing boys rumbled 
 past, followed by heavy lorries, groaning and 
 creaking, cannon, kitchen and ammunition 
 wagons moving slowly, with a cloud of dust 
 behind. 
 
 The men seemed very young, even the 
 officers. It was good to hear English and 
 we talked if they halted near us. There 
 was no presentiment of tragedy. Perhaps 
 they did not reahze, but I think they did, 
 and it was just their courageous way of 
 doing their bit. I shall never forget the 
 heroic and inspiring impression they made 
 with their shining buttons as they marched 
 singing into one of the worst slaughters 
 of the war. How terribly few of these 
 
m 
 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 169 
 
 "cheereo" young men ever returned from 
 this march. The song they sang most often 
 I shall always remember: 
 
 "There's a long, long trail a-winding into the land 
 
 of my dreams 
 Where the nightingales are singing and the white 
 
 moon beams. 
 There's a long, long night of waiting until my 
 
 dreams all come true 
 Till the day when I'll be going down that long, 
 
 long trail with you." 
 
 And we never thought so many would 
 pass into the land of dreams without any 
 more waiting. 
 
 Having nothing to do for a week, owing 
 to the necessity of waiting for "permission" 
 to move to another part of the war zone, 
 we walked through the country. Except 
 for the exercise and being outdoors, I did 
 not enjoy this much. The front seems so 
 far away from everything one has grown 
 to expect in life. The perpetual mud gives 
 the landscape a lugubrious expression. It 
 
170 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 seems a place set apart by a curtain of 
 rain. One walks on and on through a 
 monotonous flat land of vast mistiness and 
 black crows, while the guns stir up the 
 quiet atmosphere with their pounding like 
 a melancholy storm. 
 
 One day Madame G and I set out 
 
 for Ham, a town of about three thousand 
 inhabitants before the war, situated on the 
 River Somme, in a marshy country. We 
 started in an ambulance, but as it was for- 
 bidden to carry passengers, we were shut 
 out of sight with the back flap down. This 
 was not interesting, so we soon got out 
 and tried our luck again. This time, I 
 stopped an English officer in a Rolls-Royce. 
 In my embarrassment, I said: 
 
 "Oh, I am so sorry ! I would never have 
 stopped you if I had known. I never ex- 
 pected there would be a staff-officer so 
 near the front." 
 
 "We leave Paris now and then if it is 
 quite worth while, but what a shocking 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 171 
 
 bad opinion you have of us. What, what?" 
 He laughed and took us in. 
 
 The streets of Ham were Hke a pageant. 
 French poilus rubbed elbows with British 
 officers, American Red Cross men strolled 
 along with Scotchmen in kilts. There was 
 even a troop of Chinese coolies. The few 
 shops exhibited large supplies of wrist- 
 watches and wedding-rings with every-day 
 necessities of life. Tobacco was scarce. A 
 long line extended into the street from the 
 one shop that had any for sale. 
 
 The only ruin was the chateau, founded 
 in the tenth century, with a great tower as 
 its distinguishing feature. It had been used 
 as a state prison, having had among other 
 inmates Jeanne d'Arc and Louis Napoleon. 
 Later, it was used as barracks until the 
 Boches destroyed most of it, leaving a vast 
 mass of stone partly blocking the canal. 
 
 We returned on top of a high-seated farm- 
 wagon. There was a springlike mist in the 
 air, though it was only February, and the 
 
172 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 distance seemed to fade into soft pastel 
 colors like a sunset. I never saw so many 
 magpies. They gave contrast to the pale 
 shades of the country as if on purpose. 
 
 Another day I had luncheon in Noyon, 
 a town twice the size of Ham, situated on 
 the slopes of a hill in Oise. This had been 
 the German headquarters at the beginning 
 of the war, so the buildings were almost 
 all spared, and clustered around an open 
 square with a fine old hotel de ville and 
 a twelfth-century cathedral. There are 
 many shops and the streets were crowded. 
 We had to have tea in a kitchen, as the 
 tea-rooms were full of officers and canteen 
 women. 
 
 We followed the remains of an old 
 Roman wall to some cemeteries. The Ger- 
 man graves were forlorn and neglected, with 
 rough wooden crosses and numbers in con- 
 trast to the festive wreaths and flowers 
 of the French. A German inscription on 
 a large tomb in which many had been buried 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 173 
 
 showed that they were not all ignored and 
 forgotten. These German graves depressed 
 me. It seemed so sad to be left in the land 
 of their enemy far from their homes with 
 no one to care. After all, they were victims 
 of the same militarism that was hurting us 
 all, only more unfortunate because they 
 were on the wrong side, pledged to follow 
 false leaders. 
 
 On the way back we were picked up by 
 two Tommies in a motor-lorry. They were 
 so glad to speak English again that we 
 were entertained all the way. Among other 
 topics, the name of Lafayette was men- 
 tioned. 
 
 "I say, Sister," one of them began, "who 
 is this Lafayette chap you Americans and 
 French talk so much about .f^" 
 
 As I hesitated to resurrect the old enmity, 
 the other quickly spared me: 
 
 "Why, don't you know? Thought every- 
 body had heard of him. He's the famous 
 English conjurer and lion-tamer that made 
 
174 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 such a hit on the stage eight or ten years 
 ago. Haven't you heard of him? He was 
 burned to death in a fire. Famous, that's 
 what he was, the greatest conjurer Eng- 
 land ever had." 
 
 An EngUsh colonel and staff entertained 
 us in a haK-ruined cottage near the avia- 
 tor's grave. Although we went in three 
 divisions, we were rather overpowering. 
 Just before our arrival, the colonel told 
 us a general had appeared and had been 
 almost shoved from the door so he would 
 not see the table spread with the best tea- 
 party I had seen since my arrival. It was far 
 more complete and delicious than any one 
 could find in pastryless Paris. There were 
 white bread (a most unheard-of luxury), 
 pastry, confitures, toast, and plenty of 
 butter and sugar. I could hardly wait for 
 the party to begin, and felt the way I did 
 at my very first party when the hostess had 
 discovered me sitting on the floor in front 
 of the dining-room door instead of playing 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 175 
 
 games with the other children because I was 
 "waiting for the party." 
 
 When our order to depart finally arrived, 
 the colonel gave a farewell party to six of 
 us, a dinner as complete and unexpected as 
 the tea had been, with everything marvel- 
 lous even to a savory. The menus were 
 printed on crested paper under the title: 
 " 42d Field Ambulance B. E. F. Diner a 
 I'Equipe Americaine, Auto Chir No. 7." 
 
 We gathered around an open fire (an- 
 other treat) afterward and listened to 
 a Victor while the orderlies cleared the 
 kitchen for dancing. We had to use the 
 few good dance records over and over again. 
 I will never hear the "Blue Danube" and 
 the "Broken Doll" without thinking of 
 that evening spent so gayly five miles from 
 the German lines in a country soon to be 
 taken by Von Hutier's first offensive. I do 
 hope my friends came through. 
 
 To punish us for staying out so late, 
 the sheet partitions were packed while 
 
176 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 we dressed next morning. The interior of 
 our barracks looked like a series of stage- 
 settings for moving pictures, the incon- 
 gruous sights one sees at the Universal 
 City in California being the only approach 
 to the impression we gave, each one busily 
 occupied with something that had no con- 
 nection with what went on beside her. 
 The beds and wash-stands stood awkwardly 
 with no wall to lean against and account 
 for their miscellaneous positions. Everything 
 happened at random, while along the 
 centre aisle the sheets were folded and 
 laid in piles by those who were through 
 packing. The directrice, being tired, stayed 
 in bed and gave orders as unconcernedly as 
 if she were on a throne. 
 
 Before leaving Cugny, where I had lived 
 so long and constantly without interrup- 
 tion, I went to a little hill to say good-by 
 to some carrier-pigeons and the two men 
 in charge. Here every one talks to every 
 one. All barriers are broken down by the 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 177 
 
 great common interest. An American doc- 
 tor went with me, and we arrived just as 
 the wagon was moving away. A horse had 
 been hitched to it and it was going "en 
 repos" hke the rest of the Third Army, 
 which had done its duty all winter, and 
 I do not know how long it had been in 
 active service before I joined it. 
 
 The English loft was ready to take its 
 place, an old motor-bus fixed over inge- 
 niously into a little house. Two men could 
 live in the lower part with bunks on one 
 side and kitchen on the other, instead of 
 camping outside in a tent, as the French 
 had done. On top were the pigeons in a 
 loft similar to the French, with the same 
 little bell arrangement to announce the 
 return of each messenger. It seemed like 
 a boat drifting along independent of the 
 massed formation of the rest of the army. 
 These birds had helped in several important 
 battles in Belgium. I wished they could 
 have talked, for the men were so thoroughly 
 
178 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 Scotch it was impossible to understand 
 them. One must know many languages in 
 this war, and one of the most difficult is 
 English with all its accents. There is a 
 store on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris with a 
 sign "English Spoken. American Under- 
 stood." 
 
 Carrier-pigeons have played a great part 
 in this war. The French appreciated their 
 value in the last war, when, during the siege 
 of Paris, they were the only communica- 
 tion possible with the outside world. And 
 yet, with the coming of wireless telegraphy, 
 the use of these little messengers was sup- 
 posed to have passed, and if it had not 
 been for the interest in racing pigeons 
 maintained by fanciers in France, Belgium, 
 and England, there would have been no 
 trained birds for this war. 
 
 Among the many new inventions we 
 still need old-fashined methods, and keep 
 the old-time bayonets, hand-grenades, 
 and pigeons. These birds did not look like 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 179 
 
 the ones we call carrier, with scrawny 
 build, ragged feathers, and homely beak 
 and eyes. They were cultivated as racing 
 homers, and are small, well built, with 
 beautiful feathers. They did not look like 
 soldiers as they cooed and murmured com- 
 fortably in their clean loft. They seemed 
 too frail and beautiful to be sent into the 
 thick of battles, and yet even they had 
 their part to play in the big war drama 
 that called all to serve and spared no one. 
 
 Our equipe separated, some going to 
 Paris or the Riviera for a vacation, others 
 to Ressons-sur-Matz with the supplies, it 
 being our official place of "repos." Not far 
 from Compiegne, it was considered out of 
 danger, and yet it soon became the front, 
 and some of our supplies were lost. 
 
 It was a great privilege to take a course 
 at Doctor Carrel's hospital installed in a 
 hotel on the edge of the forest of Com- 
 piegne. It was so clean and well equipped 
 after our Auto Chir that it was worth see- 
 
180 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ing, though the wounds were not as interest- 
 ing as ours had been. The course consisted 
 in lectures, some of which were illustrated 
 with colored plates and practical demon- 
 strations as we watched the surgeon on his 
 round of dressings, all of which were done 
 in bed. He was assisted by two infirmieres, 
 the matron, the doctor from the laboratory 
 to take a blood-test each time, and two 
 orderlies. With all of us and several other 
 "stagiaires" there was quite a crowd, but 
 blesses love an audience. 
 
 The laboratory work, examining the 
 germs through a powerful magnifying-glass, 
 and making the Dakin solution, completed 
 the "stage," after which we went to the 
 "Mission de FAmbrine" which Madame la 
 Baronne de Rothschild had installed in an 
 old convent. While taking the courses we 
 lived at a hotel opposite the chateau where 
 the Etat-Major was located. We used to 
 sit at the window and watch the staff -cars 
 and gold-striped uniforms of all the Allied 
 
THE BRITISH FIFTH ARMY 181 
 
 forces. They brought the glamour of war 
 to remind us that armies were not entirely 
 composed of muddy tramps in misfit uni- 
 forms. The officers added to the "once- 
 upon-a-time" impression of the historic 
 chateau and park. Built during the times 
 of Louis XV and Louis XVI on the site 
 of an old hunting-lodge of the Frankish 
 kings, it is very soothing and peaceful with 
 its vine-covered arbors after the mud and 
 shattered fragments of the front. 
 
 The cathedrals have many beautiful 
 stained-glass windows illustrating scenes 
 from the life of Jeanne d'Arc, who was cap- 
 tured here by the Burgundians and de- 
 livered to the English. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 EN REPOS 
 
 ^■^HE night before we left for Paris, the 
 -*- French "avions" made a raid on 
 the German headquarters. Therefore the 
 following night the enemy retahated, and, 
 although they did not succeed in hitting 
 the chateau, our hotel was struck and my 
 room lost its wall. 
 
 Paris was not a comfortable place at 
 this time. Food restrictions were more 
 severe. Pastry, candy, and sugar had dis- 
 appeared. Bread cards were a necessity 
 even in hotels. There was no cream or milk 
 after nine o'clock a. m., not even for cooking. 
 One could eat nothing between the hours 
 of two and six in the afternoon, which re- 
 duced tea-parties to a lonely cup of tea 
 or chocolate made with water and served 
 
 182 
 
EN REPOS 183 
 
 without cream or sugar. A few places started 
 to serve figs and dates in place of sand- 
 wiches, but this was stopped immediately. 
 Every one carried his own sugar-box, even 
 to private houses. In the hotels a waiter 
 made the rounds with a bottle of saccharine, 
 giving a spoonful to those who had no 
 sugar. One day when I had forgotten my 
 little box, which was supplied indirectly by 
 the American Commissary Department, a 
 French aviator with a "croix de guerre" 
 and long ribbon of palms offered me his. 
 The "bonne camaraderie" of the front had 
 come to Paris. 
 
 Paris was in fact in the war zone. The 
 German offensive had begun on March 21, 
 under Von Hutier, striking the British on 
 the southern flank, not unexpectedly, but 
 with invincible violence and superior num- 
 bers. Where the Fifth Army had been there 
 opened up a thinly defended area which 
 almost allowed the Germans to realize their 
 dream of reaching Amiens and Paris. 
 
184 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 A French officer reported that our little 
 village of Cugny had been bombarded 
 heavily shortly after our departure, and 
 that forty people were killed. As I did not 
 imagine there were that many inhabitants, 
 it must have been wiped out of existence. 
 Later, a British officer wlio had been sent 
 to our former hospital, wounded in the 
 arm, told how the British had set fire to 
 it as the enemy approached so they would 
 not profit by our supplies. Evidently the 
 Germans had been counting on using it 
 themselves, having spared it in all the raids 
 while we were there. When they saw it in 
 flames, they were so enraged that they shot 
 the doctors and bayoneted the wounded 
 before they could be hurried off in a train 
 that was waiting. 
 
 I like to hear the English tell their ex- 
 periences. They are so frank and uncon- 
 scious of heroism. The war is hunting or 
 cricket to them, and, though they rather 
 wish it was being played in England, they 
 
EN REPOS 185 
 
 do not complain as long as they can run 
 back to Paris now and then for a bath and 
 good dinner. This officer told me calmly 
 that he had been sent to Ham with a few 
 men to load some barbed wire on a lorry. 
 As they drew near the town, a shot was 
 fired at them, from behind a house. He left 
 his ten men in shelter while he went on 
 "to have a look in, as it seemed a bit odd." 
 The town was full of Boches, who fired at 
 them with machine guns as they crawled 
 all the way back to Cugny in the ditches 
 of the unprotecting road. 
 
 A world of cosmopolitan uniforms has 
 almost obliterated the old Paris of the 
 Louis and Napoleons. Their beautiful city 
 of harmonious buildings, row after row of 
 graystone carved into fragile designs or 
 columns, with wide avenues and parks full 
 of statues, has been turned into a city of 
 khaki and sand-bags. The great doors of 
 Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, Napo- 
 leon's column in the Place Vendome, and 
 
186 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the statues in the Place de la Concorde, 
 around the Opera and in the Tuileries are 
 all disguised by a defense of sand-bags. And 
 yet the wine-like atmosphere is ever there, 
 making it still a city of romance. 
 
 Sometimes torches were set in the ground 
 filling the air with a heavy black fog in an 
 attempt to cover Paris with a protecting 
 cloud. In the Bois de Boulogne and Luxem- 
 bourg Gardens were a few balloons like 
 those used for observation, but lacking the 
 basket for the observer. When floating 
 high at night, many wires were dropped 
 and a fence formed, circling the city with 
 a barrage of wire less dangerous to its in- 
 habitants than the shrapnel of the anti- 
 aircraft guns. 
 
 The cafes in the Bois and along the 
 Champs-Elysees had not opened as yet 
 after the winter. The theatres would often 
 have to stop performances scarcely begun 
 because of an air-raid. It would not have 
 paid the managers to issue rain checks, as 
 
EN REPOS 187 
 
 it rained bombs so often. With nothing to 
 do, the first charm of my vacation wore 
 off when the luxuries of civihzation ceased 
 to be a novelty. I joined an "ouvroir" at 
 the Porte Dauphine, where artificial limbs 
 were made by hand out of papier-mache. 
 It made me happy to feel that I was still 
 working for them "jusqu'au bout." 
 
 The city at night was even darker than 
 last summer. Very few of the street-lamps 
 were lighted, and these, under dark-blue 
 shades, did not shine far. A lighted car or 
 even a flash-light carried by a pedestrian 
 aroused a protesting cry of "Pas de 
 lumiere!" One had to feel one's way in 
 utter gloom under the archways that line 
 the streets. Among so many fears, no single 
 one predominates enough to make one 
 afraid. People are cautioned to go into 
 places of safety during air-raids to escape 
 the falling shrapnel from the antiaircraft 
 guns as well as bombs dropped from the 
 aeroplanes. Hotels and other large build- 
 
188 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 ings open their corridors and cellars to 
 the public, marking on the outside wall 
 how many can be accommodated in each 
 "abri." Every entrance to the underground 
 railroads has "refuge" over it in large 
 letters of the usual blue. Trains stop, and 
 the civilians crowd into the Metro and 
 Nord-Sud stations to wait for the "All 
 clear" to be sounded by the firemen. 
 
 Air-raids occurred almost every night 
 and sometimes twice in the same night. 
 The damage done was greater than the 
 one-sheet newspapers admitted, but re- 
 pairs were quickly made, so there was 
 scarcely a trace of the nightly tragedy. 
 The "alerte" is given as soon as an enemy 
 plane is reported to have crossed the front 
 lines. At the warning shriek of the sirens 
 and horns blown by firemen as their red 
 cars speed through the city, the people 
 disappear from the streets and upper stories 
 of houses like ants into ant-hills. They say 
 it is easy for the German aviators to find 
 
EN REPOS 189 
 
 Paris by following the black spot of the 
 Forest of Compiegne and the river. 
 
 The "gothas" are so high that one can 
 scarcely hear the machine guns on the 
 planes or the hum of the motors, as one 
 can when they fly low overhead at the 
 front. Signal-lights like white and red stars 
 move about, and the rumbling of the anti- 
 aircraft cannon goes on in the distance. 
 When a bomb falls there is a flash of light 
 and a great crash and crunching sound. 
 Except when these deafening bangs occur 
 near by, it all seems far away and unreal. 
 Night after night of interrupted sleep wore 
 on the people so that there was an exodus 
 of families with children and wounded from 
 the hospitals. Except for a few people who 
 drew their money from the banks, there 
 was no sign of panic, though the Germans 
 were advancing every day. 
 
 After one night of a few hours' sleep owing 
 to raids, I was awakened at half past six 
 by a crash. Wondering how the "gothas" 
 
190 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 dared appear in daylight, I strolled out into 
 the street, where groups of sleepy, surprised 
 people were gathered together scanning the 
 sky, which was perfectly clear. Not quite 
 daring to return to my room on the top 
 floor, I breakfasted at Rumplemeyers, where 
 I discussed the situation with a Salvation 
 Army woman, a Russian officer in civilian 
 clothes (they all went into disguise after 
 their revolution), and the madame who 
 was vainly trying to lure her waitresses 
 back from the street. 
 
 "Come back here, all of you," she called 
 like a distracted hen. "Why do you insist 
 upon standing out there listening to all the 
 horrible stories those people tell? They 
 will make you believe that the Kaiser him- 
 seK is coming here for breakfast. Voyons !" 
 
 By noon we learned that Paris was being 
 bombarded by a long-range gun, carrying 
 seventy-five miles from Laon, the nearest 
 point of the German army. After another 
 advance the cannon was moved nearer and 
 
EN REPOS 191 
 
 fired from the Forest of St. Gobain. The 
 shell was not as large as one would expect, 
 and the sound scarcely more than that of 
 a cork popping unless it fell near by. For 
 several days a shot came every fifteen 
 minutes, and the people grew so accustomed 
 to it that strangers in cafes would bet or 
 have heated arguments as to how many 
 seconds over or under fifteen minutes Big 
 Bertha was coming. 
 
 The damage done by the long-range gun 
 was not as great as that done during the 
 air-raids, and yet it added considerably to 
 the nervous strain and depression of spend- 
 ing part of every night in cellars, reading 
 news of the German advance through all 
 the "France reconquise" of the year be- 
 fore, and being in danger every fifteen 
 minutes or half -hour of the day. It was a 
 difficult test for even the strongest to stand. 
 When the church of St. Gervais was struck, 
 on Good Friday, and some of my friends 
 had to search every hospital and even the 
 
192 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 morgue for missing members of their fami- 
 lies, I did not blame any one who left for 
 the sunny south. I longed to be safe at 
 the front again. There, at least, one could 
 feel that the "gothas" might not hit a 
 hospital, but in Paris one could not help 
 realizing that each bomb was intended to 
 kill as many people as possible. It makes 
 one a fatalist, this feeling that only Provi- 
 dence or luck saves each moment from being 
 the last. How could one tell which way to 
 go when any direction might prove fatal ? 
 
 And yet, in spite of the unconquerable 
 confidence in the future and the calm poise 
 of the people, the shadow of war has fallen 
 on the city. Both times I was in Paris when 
 the morale was depressed, and I am glad I 
 stayed long enough to adjust my impres- 
 sions and separate the real from the false, 
 the brave native soul of the city from the 
 war-corrupted forms that covered it, washed 
 back from the battles of many nations at 
 war in one country. 
 
EN REPOS 193 
 
 Paris is so far reraoved from the action 
 and courage of the front that the unfit 
 and afraid, the despair of the refugees, 
 the poverty and worry and sorrow of the 
 women, the careless attitude of the wounded 
 and soldiers on leave, all help to give the 
 impression of a great city dying. Seen from 
 the streets, the life of Paris is abnormal 
 and very tired, full of unrestrained loving 
 and cadaverous faces with haunted eyes. 
 People almost fall asleep as they trudge 
 along in dowdy clothes, and cabs run riot- 
 ously, with no traffic regulations. There is 
 no conscience in these people who have 
 been through unspeakable sorrow and pain, 
 and no consequences to be feared. A frantic 
 effort is made by exiles and all the home- 
 sick soldiers who expect to die soon to 
 crowd as much pleasure of any kind into 
 what time remains. They have been through 
 the worst and nothing matters. 
 
 Everywhere houses are closed or for 
 rent; even some of the large buildings that 
 
194 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 had been used as hospitals are now vacant. 
 The shop-windows hide their increasing 
 emptiness behind fantastic designs made of 
 pieces of paper pasted in long strips across 
 the glass to prevent breakage by concus- 
 sion during air-raids. In the homes of titled 
 people one finds them living in large houses 
 half closed, the walls dismantled and the 
 treasured heirlooms, tapestries, and pictures 
 sent away to the south for safe-keeping. 
 One or two servants are all that remain of 
 the once luxurious establishments, but there 
 is no entertaining, so the work is light. The 
 French are taking the war as seriously as 
 they formerly took life frivolously; many 
 of the women who were accustomed to 
 ease and luxury are now hard at work in 
 hospitals. I know one white-haired countess 
 who was an invalid before the war, and is 
 now head of a hospital of six hundred beds. 
 The French gayety and enthusiasm seem 
 to have burnt out, but underneath the 
 dreary exterior a keen patriotism still lives. 
 
EN REPOS 195 
 
 unhurt by war and its evil eiffects, strength- 
 ened by the nobihty of its past, and looking 
 forward to new beauty in the future. This 
 unconquerable spirit is so great that it 
 dwarfs the things that cannot spoil it, and 
 scatters abnormality and unhealthiness be- 
 fore it like a fresh breeze. The true soul of 
 France tries to show all who are depressed 
 that war cannot eat up the world. Man 
 may try to destroy himself and use his 
 knowledge to ruin all, but there are bigger 
 things that have a life he cannot crush, 
 and that will wait patiently for the storms 
 to pass and the real work of the world to 
 go on, the broken threads of life to be picked 
 up and continued. 
 
 It is easy to love the Paris of peace-time 
 with its shaded avenues, built by kings 
 who had no scruples about pushing the 
 poor out of the way. With a genius for 
 making scenery and architecture harmonize, 
 they edge their avenues with long lines 
 of symmetrical houses and colonnades. 
 
196 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 But in war-time you must use your imag- 
 ination and let it carry you back to the 
 Paris that made history. Let your eyes 
 follow the domes and spires up to the sky, 
 where rainbows and unusual cloud effects 
 are ever changing, due to intermittent 
 showers. You have only to watch the sky 
 to realize where the French artists find in- 
 spiration. 
 
 There are not enough artists in life. Any 
 one taking a picture of Paris at this time 
 would show a city paralyzed by four years 
 of war and suffering, the weary heart of 
 a country that has given up caring about 
 life and clean things, a people who just 
 want to lie down and die, resentful of the 
 American energy that is coming in so late 
 to stir it up again. But an artist is not satis- 
 fied with plain facts as they appear on the 
 surface. He penetrates to the innermost 
 depths and finds the true meaning. Then 
 he paints a picture with a soul. 
 
 The wide culture and psychological genius 
 
EN REPOS 197 
 
 of Paris is not dead, only smothered tem- 
 porarily by a cloud of nervous pleasure- 
 seekers who overrun the city while its 
 heroes are dying at the front. These para- 
 sites prey upon Paris when it has no vitality 
 to shake them off. However, their voices 
 are not so loud as the real voice that speaks 
 from the spires of Notre Dame and the 
 height of the Arc de Triomphe. 
 
 The "repos" of the Third French Army 
 was rudely interrupted, and General Hum- 
 bert's reserves were sent out to stop the 
 German advance. When my orders came 
 to report for duty at Compiegne, then 
 evacuated and almost in the hands of the 
 enemy, every one said good-by as if they 
 never expected to see me again. But really 
 I was glad to leave Paris. The perpetual 
 bombing was horribly on my nerves. I 
 wanted to go where I could be busy enough 
 to forget. I had even envied the concierge 
 when he stopped cleaning windows, pulled 
 down his sleeves, and apologetically ex- 
 
198 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 plained as he ran the elevator that he had 
 to be "all things" now. One can only en- 
 dure war when one is not thinking. At the 
 front there is no time to worry and wonder 
 where the shells are falling, no time to 
 think, just a lot of work that must be done 
 quickly. 
 
 A great many hospitals, field and base, 
 had evacuated and were pushing south, so 
 we were unable to install our Auto Chir 
 until the offensive was broken and the 
 counter-attacks began. Our supplies, sup- 
 posedly left in a safe place, were inaccessible. 
 In the meantime, we were to help the Amer- 
 ican Red Cross to care for the refugees, and 
 to- work in a canteen kitchen at the station. 
 On our way out, the roads were full of the 
 British going back, some of them being 
 the sole survivors of their companies, and 
 the French coming up with flowers in their 
 bayonets and victory in their eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 DURING THE GERMAN 
 ADVANCE 
 
 ^ I^HE houses along the railroad near 
 -*- Compiegne were only shells of what 
 they had been the last time we made this 
 trip. There were large shell-holes in the 
 street leading to the hotel, now occupied 
 by the American Red Cross. The hotel 
 had lost its inside walls and had no running 
 water, electric light, or servants. Only sol- 
 diers and war workers were to be seen. 
 With no mail service, not even a news- 
 paper, and the civilians gone, the town was 
 in a pathetic state of dilapidation. But it 
 was not quite empty of its civilian popula- 
 tion. Here and there would be a dog, guard- 
 ing faithfully the door of a crumbling, roof- 
 less house, or some starving cats would cry 
 in the abandoned streets hke lost children. 
 
 199 
 
200 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 We were appointed various tasks as wait- 
 resses and housemaids in the hotel, and 
 chauffeurs to collect refugees, wounded, and 
 supplies. A few of us were sent to care for 
 the wounded at the station and in an aban- 
 doned hospital. I went to the canteen 
 kitchen near the station and crossroads 
 to give coffee, crackers, chocolate, and 
 cigarettes to the troops passing through on 
 foot or driving the big guns and supply- 
 wagons. Sometimes we would gather up a 
 handful of chocolate and cigarettes and run 
 into the road among the confusion of guns, 
 heavy wheels, and horses' hoofs to throw 
 something to the drivers who were unable 
 to rejoin the line around the kitchen on 
 wheels and its surrounding baskets. 
 
 Usually I would stand all day, giving 
 cigarettes with one hand and chocolate 
 with the other to fill the endless line of 
 outstretched hands. I had to stop sometimes 
 to remind some one that he had returned 
 too many times, and was cheating others 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 201 
 
 of their share. They hked to see how often 
 they could come back without being recog- 
 nized, these poilus ever ready to tease. 
 Sometimes, a former blesse of mine would 
 greet me and cheer me on with a work 
 that was rather fatiguing and not very 
 interesting. One of them brought me a 
 little girl "who had fallen from the nest," 
 and could not find her parents. She had 
 golden curls and such an appealing manner 
 that I wanted to adopt her, but had to give 
 her up to the Red Cross when I was re- 
 minded that my work was with the blesses. 
 As the laundry had been destroyed, we 
 conserved the few uniforms we had brought 
 with us in answer to the order: "Bring only 
 what you can carry." We wore our dark- 
 blue travelling uniforms with aprons that 
 once had been clean, and tied our dark- 
 blue veils back as if we were about to sweep 
 a room. This was not the time to worry 
 about looking "reglementaire." One did 
 what one could. 
 
£02 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 We even wore our uniforms at night 
 when we slept in the damp "caves" deep 
 down under the chateau. At first we 
 stretched out on blankets on the moist 
 stone floor, but later we had canvas beds 
 like large camp-stools, not comfortable, but 
 good enough when one was tired standing 
 up all day. I even kept my boots on because 
 the dampness made them too wet if I took 
 them off and left them under the bed. Here 
 we slept night after night during the bom- 
 bardments, English and American canteen 
 workers, Red Cross men, poilus, all of us 
 in a long row in the narrow corridor of the 
 cave. 
 
 At six o'clock we would scramble up the 
 slippery stairway several flights to the 
 ground floor, leaving our blankets in a dry 
 place, and hurry to the hotel to wash. This 
 was a hope rarely realized, for usually a 
 shell would whistle menacingly by the 
 window, and we would be ordered to the 
 wine-cellar under the hotel "toute de suite." 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 203 
 
 Here we opened boxes of supplies for the 
 canteen workers, and broke chocolate into 
 pieces until the danger was over. We had 
 to carry our gas-masks strapped over our 
 shoulders wherever we went, as the rumor 
 was that gas-bombs were being dropped. 
 
 The day nurse at the abandoned hospital 
 asked for assistance, and I was sent to help 
 her, though what she really needed was an 
 orderly. There were gangrene cases and a 
 "trepane," and the work was the hardest 
 and most disagreeable I had ever done. 
 But it was so necessary I liked it better 
 than the canteen, where I felt like a moving- 
 picture actress as I ran wildly about among 
 the heavy wagons with my veil floating 
 in the wind and cigarettes dropping from 
 my overflowing hands. One English-speak- 
 ing boy had scribbled: "Darling, I love 
 you. Love you myself?" In the hospital I 
 was treated with respect. Some ambulance- 
 drivers told me afterward that when they 
 picked up men from these troops later they 
 
204 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 invariably asked to be taken where the 
 "petites infirmieres" were, so in spite of 
 their jokes we were evidently appreciated. 
 
 There was one doctor who had remained 
 at Royallieu when the hospital had been 
 evacuated, and one French nurse who had 
 returned from "permission" after the others 
 had left. She was shocked at the way things 
 had been managed. 
 
 "No, mesdames, this was not an evacua- 
 tion. This hospital was abandoned in great 
 haste. It is shameful." 
 
 The doctor had no orderlies. There were 
 a few roaming around quite intoxicated, 
 but when asked to carry water or find food 
 for their own countrymen, they always 
 replied negatively that they were "of an- 
 other service." We often gave the blesses 
 our lunch. Work with men dying of gan- 
 grene-poisoning does not make one hungry, 
 and most of them were too hurt or feverish 
 to eat much. But even water was hard to 
 get. We wasted time and energy looking 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 205 
 
 for the simple necessities that are usually 
 taken for granted in a hospital. So many 
 dressings and operations had to be done 
 with the same meagre supply of instruments 
 that I was always cleaning and sterilizing 
 them. But that was better than helping 
 the doctor, for the odor of gangrene is be- 
 yond human endurance in a ward with the 
 windows closed. Even matches were hard 
 to get and we needed our lamp every min- 
 ute for sterilizing and hot drinks. We could 
 only do as the doctor ordered to the best 
 of our ability with what material we could 
 find or invent, tumbling into our cots in 
 the dark each night after the others had 
 fallen asleep. 
 
 We were relieved at eight o'clock by the 
 night nurse and drove back by "camio- 
 nette" to the caves. The sky was red where 
 the roar of artillery showed the fighting was 
 going on. It seemed very near. We knew 
 the bridge was mined and that we might 
 have to leave at a moment's notice. Day 
 
206 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 after day this life went on with no change, 
 not even of clothing. I was too tired to 
 worry about the poor dying blesses or the 
 danger. The feeling of it all being a dreadful 
 nightmare from which we must waken 
 acted as a narcotic. It seemed too unreal 
 and too unnatural to last. 
 
 Early in April, the French reserves began 
 their counter-attacks to break the German 
 offensive. These battles were so costly that 
 we had to work night and day, sometimes 
 thirty-six hours without a rest and only 
 a little food snatched quickly before an 
 orderly appeared announcing: "Encore des 
 entrants !" 
 
 Our Auto Chir was installed in barracks 
 near the one in which I had been working. 
 As soon as the first ward was ready we 
 moved our blesses into it, those that still 
 Hved. The task of reinstalling an evacuated 
 hospital at a moment's notice with blesses 
 arriving all the time was gigantic. Madame 
 Carrel gave us some supplies from her 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 207 
 
 hospital, which had been bombed. We spent 
 many days carrying mattresses and making 
 bed after bed, in one ward after another, 
 in the confusion of conflicting and con- 
 tradictory orders. 
 
 "These mattresses must not be used 
 here. The whole ward will have to be done 
 over with the mattresses in the next pa- 
 vilion." Or the medecin-chef would say, 
 "There are too many beds in this room" 
 or "Those beds must all be taken out of 
 here. They belong to the officers' ward at 
 the end of the pavilion," 
 
 When there was time, we slept and ate 
 in a barrack of brick and cement like the 
 wards at the end of the row of "pavilions." 
 The place suggested a prison more than 
 anything else. At first there were no sheets 
 for our beds, eight in a room with no parti- 
 tions, but as we were always chilly and 
 damp living in such a cellar, we did not 
 mind sleeping in our clothes. Behind each 
 bed was a shelf running around the room 
 
208 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 on whicli to unpack whatever we might 
 need in a hurry. These shelves were an 
 untidy smattering of soap, condensed milk, 
 cigarettes, powder, malted-milk tablets, a 
 tooth-brush, a candle, and almost anything. 
 Our possessions were reduced to the lowest 
 common denominator, the rest being stowed 
 under the bed. 
 
 Our only needs were sleep and food. Even 
 these were not always obtainable. It is 
 hard for eight people to be quiet, or should 
 I say, eight women ? Some one writes letters 
 by a flickering candle, some one snores, 
 some one makes a hot drink, and others 
 gossip about people at home. As for food, 
 mouse-trap cheese and rancid butter seemed 
 to be ever with us. Potatoes were the vege- 
 table, and eggs or tinned food the meat. 
 Confiture was available but there was only 
 enough for one turn. Being so poor in qual- 
 ity, the food did not give us an appetite; 
 quite the contrary. After each meal we 
 would make coffee or chocolate and smoke 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 209 
 
 to fill up the gaps. I shall never scorn /*Fati- 
 mas" or "Lucky Strikes," for they helped 
 to "keep the home-fires burning" at this 
 critical time. 
 
 Pinning two strips of red flannel on a 
 towel, we put up a flag by the first "pa- 
 vilion" so that the ambulance-drivers would 
 know where to leave the wounded. Ours 
 must have, been the only field-hospital for 
 miles around, for they kept arriving, from 
 various services, French and American, 
 leaving broken bodies with bandages half 
 fallen off the hastily dressed wounds, re- 
 turning again and again with more. We 
 had only room for the worst cases, mostly 
 hemorrhages, so the less serious were sent 
 farther south to a base-hospital. 
 
 I went on twenty-four-hour duty in the 
 triage, or receiving-room. Every other night 
 is enough for sleep, and I used the rest of 
 my off-duty time to help unpack boxes of 
 supplies or do odd jobs in the "salle de 
 pansements," where dressings were done so 
 
210 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 continually that things could not be pre- 
 pared fast enough. It would have been im- 
 possible to sleep in the daytime with every 
 one coming into the room. 
 
 The triage is kept warm with a stove 
 that heats water for the washing and 
 hot-water bags. There are rests for five 
 stretchers, and beside each a little table 
 with basin, soap, brushes, and towels. A 
 meagre supply of hot-water bags hang on 
 nails along the wall. Towels and shirts are 
 kept on shelves at one end of the room. At 
 the other, near the window, is a long table 
 with benches where the sergeant and his 
 orderlies, all of them priests, write the his- 
 tories of the men who are brought in. They 
 also print beautifully lettered signs to be put 
 on doors of ofiices and wards. Opposite their 
 table is my dressing-cart with a large supply 
 of bottles, compresses, bandages, and cotton, 
 with an alcohol-lamp on a shelf continually 
 burning to sterilize syringes and needles. 
 
 Only five men can be attended to at a 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 211 
 
 time, so some have to wait in the next room, 
 where the stretchers and blankets are kept. 
 There they He, moaning and begging for 
 water, until the "brancardiers" carry them 
 into the triage, where they are undressed 
 and washed by the two "laveurs" and me 
 as quickly as possible, given an injection 
 of antitetanus and any other "piqure" 
 needed to stimulate them. Sometimes a 
 500-grammes saline injection is necessary. 
 The great need and hope that an injection 
 may give them less pain or even save their 
 lives made this task less difficult, though 
 I had dreaded it so much a few months 
 before in the ward when it was time for 
 the second antitetanus "piqiire." The 
 desire to help overcame my former reluc- 
 tance and I was very generous with strych- 
 nia, morphia, and camphorated oil. How- 
 ever, after twenty-four hours of this I 
 would sometimes come to the dining-room 
 pinching my arms, automatically looking 
 for a place to insert a needle. 
 
212 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 Reinforcing the dressings was another 
 hard part of my work. Most of the blesses 
 had received first-aid treatment, but the 
 ride in a jolting ambulance had loosened 
 their dressings, so that some of them fell 
 off, and all were soaked through with blood. 
 Many hemorrhages had to be stopped. 
 
 One time I had to put several compresses 
 in a large hole in a man's back while he 
 leaned forward on the stretcher. Fearing 
 that the strain might be too great, I stopped 
 in the midst of my extempore dressing to 
 look around at him. What was my sur- 
 prise to see him white and hollow-eyed but 
 smoking a cigarette ! 
 
 An officer, not to be outdone, fumbled 
 among his "effets" for an old newspaper, 
 which he held upside down waiting for an 
 operation from which he did not recover. 
 
 There were so many being brought in 
 all the time that the operating-room was 
 always full. Some of the blesses had to 
 wait, lying on stretchers many hours until 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 213 
 
 there was a vacancy. There were plenty 
 of "aides-majors" to do the dressings but 
 few surgeons to operate. 
 
 Some of the men were sent to the X-ray 
 first to have the position of pieces of shell 
 marked on their bodies and data recorded. 
 There were more of these "radioscopies" 
 done in a rush than plates photographed. 
 I would sometimes have to stand by the 
 table to hold a delirious blesse who threw 
 himself about, as the "radiographe" had his 
 hands full with his complicated apparatus. 
 
 I would make a list of the most urgent. 
 Sometimes I would take a serious case to 
 the operating-room myself right away, hold- 
 ing one end of the stretcher and kneeling 
 on the floor by the door regardless of mud 
 to keep frantic hands from scratching an 
 open wound. 
 
 Sometimes German prisoners were 
 brought in. One would expect them to be 
 coolly received in the midst of so many 
 suffering Frenchmen, and I marvelled at 
 
214 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 the great humanity that made the doctors 
 and orderhes care for their enemies as well 
 as their own countrymen. In spite of the 
 many atrocities one hears, these prisoners 
 always said, "Thank you very much," in 
 French, when I gave them hypodermics, 
 which according to their Kultur might have 
 been poison. With their hats off they are 
 not a bit impressive or fierce. Their heads 
 are flat in the back, as if things had been 
 left out. When one of them was dying, I 
 did not put him on the urgent hst, think- 
 ing the French more important. But a doc- 
 tor came in and hurried him off right away. 
 Returning from the "radio" or operating- 
 room after accompanying the stretchers to 
 open doors, keeping some one from falling 
 off, or reminding the " brancardiers " with a 
 "Doucement!" that they were not jogging 
 along swinging bags, I would make a hasty 
 survey of the two waiting-rooms to see if 
 there were any hemorrhages or if a "pi- 
 qure" was needed. 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 215 
 
 In the triage there would always be new 
 arrivals waiting, and each must have a 
 nasal injection and gargle preparatory to 
 his operation, a clean shirt, and hot-water 
 bag if there was one left. I had to collect 
 and redistribute them among the most 
 urgent. To shuffle five among fifty -five men 
 or more arriving in a night took careful 
 management. 
 
 There was enough work for several "in- 
 firmieres," but I never called for assistance, 
 because every one else was working over- 
 time in her department. The arduous task 
 of doing so many things at once over and 
 over again, and being in several rooms at 
 the same time, acted as a panacea at this 
 time of danger and anxiety. It was stiff, 
 dirty work, not sympathetic, as the ward 
 had been. There were no smiles here, only 
 moaning and writhing and an occasional 
 stoic "It is going better now. Thank you," 
 that was almost harder to bear than com- 
 plaining or delirious crying. 
 
216 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 The conscious were the hardest to watch, 
 for they were so brave in their agony. The 
 shell-shocked and delirious are mercifully 
 dulled to pain. The sight of so many mangled 
 bodies is appalling, some carried face down- 
 ward, and all suffering excruciating torture 
 from more than one wound. There is little 
 complaining or swearing, only a low moan- 
 ing sound of a hurt animal, broken by 
 sharp cries of "O, la, la, how I suffer!" or 
 some feverish one talking about his wife or 
 mother. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I am the last my parents 
 have. Don't let me leave them. The others 
 are killed. I must go back to them." I had 
 scarcely time to reassure him when from 
 the next stretcher would come frightened 
 cries of "The Boches ! the Boches! they 
 will get to Paris, my beautiful Paris ! They 
 will assassinate the world, the whole world ! " 
 
 Then all would be quiet except for the 
 sound of washing as the "laveurs" worked 
 on and on, and the twisting, writhing, and 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 217 
 
 turning of aching bodies in search of the 
 least painful position. Sometimes a pool of 
 blood under the stretcher would show that 
 some urgent case must be hurried to the 
 operating-room. Sometimes a pale greenish- 
 gray color would spread over a white face, 
 and a gurgling noise would tell me that it 
 was too late to hurry this one. The "bran- 
 cardiers" did not like to see me cry, and 
 I have seen them hurrying off with some 
 blesse, whispering: "Quick! He must not 
 die here!" 
 
 It was harder to see the men brought in 
 wearing their uniforms than it had been 
 in the ward when they appeared washed 
 and operated, with clean bandages, the 
 worst over as a rule and a hopeful con- 
 valescence ahead. In my off-duty time I 
 would sometimes look through the wards 
 to see how they came through, but I gave 
 up this idea, as it was too sad to find how 
 few survived. 
 
 No wonder our newspaper reporters write 
 
218 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 encouraging accounts of the dilapidation of 
 the German prisoners, in spite of which 
 fact war goes on. All men look hke tramps 
 after weeks and months of exposure in the 
 trenches, with their faces gray and tired 
 and almost as stiff and muddy as their 
 uniforms. They are a pathetic sight in their 
 uniforms, once so new and proud, now all 
 torn, blood-stained, and caked with clayey 
 yellow mud. The mud clings to their clothes 
 and hair and wounds. One could knock it 
 off in lumps. They look so forlorn lying on 
 the straw-covered stretchers with their 
 hobnailed boots sticking out beyond the 
 blanket, on which are sometimes scattered 
 cigarettes from the precious supply of a 
 kind-hearted ambulance-driver (American, 
 of course !), but lying unnoticed before the 
 staring, unseeing eyes that look beyond 
 with an expression that pleads for some- 
 thing we cannot give. 
 
 To realize the poverty of France after 
 four years of war, one should see the order- 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 219 
 
 lies pulling an exhausted, panting man out 
 of his clothes instead of ripping them quickly 
 and letting him save what strength remains 
 for his operation. When I hurry to the 
 rescue with my scissors, they mutter dis- 
 approvingly: 
 
 "Mademoiselle is American and does not 
 know what poverty is. France is too poor 
 to give new uniforms to all these men." 
 
 I would stagger back at the end of my 
 twenty-four hours to report, with an apron 
 and often a face spattered with blood and 
 mud, and yet a spirit radiant and unweary 
 with the thrill of service. A feeble whisper 
 of thanks from the lips of a man suffering 
 untellable agony or the unspoken gratitude 
 in dying eyes made me realize that the girl 
 who had started humbly and ignorantly 
 to be in a supply-room was making good 
 in a real work. 
 
 The operating goes on night and day, 
 the old cases when there is time and the 
 new cases always. Our life seemed unreal, 
 
220 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 like a series of moving pictures turned very 
 fast over and over again. All day and all 
 night the ambulances would rumble in and 
 out, and more piles of dirty, blood-soaked 
 clothes would be taken away to be washed 
 or burned. These little heaps were very 
 sad. Here would be a sweater, torn and 
 stained, made by some loving hands, and 
 there a precious band that every poilu 
 wraps around his waist cut ruthlessly and 
 thrown away. 
 
 As soon as blesses could be evacuated, 
 they were sent off in "peniches," the old 
 boats that used to go up and down the 
 Seine being used instead of trains. Skirting 
 the banks, green with budding trees, they 
 were safe from Taubes. How restful this 
 ride must have been ! 
 
 The work was not an uninterrupted 
 series of horrors. Even the triage had its 
 diversions. When not busy, the priests 
 would make sketches and caricatures. There 
 was a staff of Annamites in saffron -colored 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 221 
 
 uniforms and red turbans, who cleaned 
 and swept and carried stretchers. They 
 were absolutely alike and seemed Httle 
 boys more than grown men. The sergeant 
 and I had to manage them by pantomime 
 orders, which was quite amusing, as they 
 spoke and understood only a guttural lan- 
 guage of monosyllables. Generals would 
 make tours of inspection, and for a while 
 some American doctors followed me about 
 asking me to explain what I was doing. 
 I had had all my training in French and 
 knew only the French terms for every- 
 thing. They added greatly to the confusion 
 and made me rather nervous, but habit 
 had made me sure of my work. No matter 
 what happened I could not lose my sense 
 of humor, and found it hard not to laugh 
 when one blesse took out some false teeth 
 and solemnly washed them in the water 
 I had prepared for him to gargle. 
 
 For a long while no mail penetrated to 
 our new post. Among the first letters that 
 
222 HOSPITAL HEROES 
 
 came was one from a "fiUeul" enclosing 
 some flowers which he had found on the 
 edge of his trench a few kilometres from 
 the German lines. Imagine a man shooting 
 other men, stopping to notice or even being 
 able to see flowers, and then send them to 
 a foreigner who spoke his language with 
 difficulty and just happened to take care 
 of him for a while when he was hurt ! 
 
 My life had been going on indoors as if 
 I were in a tunnel, and it was hard to real- 
 ize that spring had come outside in spite 
 of war. It seemed ironical and almost cruel 
 that flowers could have the heart to bloom 
 and that birds could sing as merrily as 
 they did before these four years of sadness 
 and suffering. Perhaps the earth, neglected 
 and unable to produce grain to nourish her 
 poilus, was doing her best to compensate 
 with flowers for the delight of their souls. 
 And the poilus, even on the edge of battle- 
 fields, appreciate her efforts with souls not 
 weakened but exalted by war. They still 
 
DURING THE GERMAN ADVANCE 223 
 
 have eyes to see violets growing on the 
 sides of their trenches. It will take more 
 than militarism to conquer these poilus of 
 France. 
 
 And in the triage, day after day, and 
 night after night, the "brancardiers" 
 shuffled back and forth carrying shattered 
 pieces of these same poilus to be patched 
 up and sent back to the trenches. No won- 
 der Lord Kitchener said: 
 
 "The best soldier is the healed wounded 
 man who returns to the fire." 
 
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