Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net "MY BELOVED POILUS" THESE HOME LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN GIRL, DAUGHTER OF A RETIRED GENERAL OF THE U. S. ARMY, GIVING HER TRAINED SERVICES, CARING FOR THE WOUNDED IN FRANCE AT AN ARMY AMBULANCE AND SUCCORING DISTRESS WHEREVER SHE MEETS IT, ARE PUBLISHED BY HER FRIENDS WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE. SIMPLY AND SOLELY TO RAISE MONEY TO AID HER IN HER WORK WHICH BEGAN ON THE 4th DAY OF AUGUST, 1914. EVERY DOLLAR RECEIVED FROM THE SALE OF THE BOOK, LESS BARE COST OF PRINTING AND EXPRESS CHARGES, GOES TO THE FUND. St. John, N. B. BARNES & CO., Limited, PUBLISHERS. 1917 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Assistance of all Booksellers and Stationers is Solicited in Pushing this Work. Price One Dollar. Single Copies by Mail Postage Paid. Address "Poilus," Box 163, St. John, N. B. Hospital Contributions will be received and acknowledged by A. C. Skelton, Manager Bank of British North America, St. John, N. B. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright. Canada, March 2, 1917. United States, March, 1917. First Edition, March 15, 1917. Second Edition, April 15, 1917. Engravings by F. C. Wesley Co., St. John, N. B. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PREFACE. When Florence Nightingale began her great work in the hospital wards at Scutari in 1854, she little realised how far-reaching would be the effect of her noble self-sacrificing efforts. Could she to-day visit the war-stricken countries of Europe she would be astonished at the great developments of the work of caring for the wounded soldiers which she inaugurated so long ago. Her fine example is being emulated to-day by hundreds of thousands of brave women who are devoting themselves to the wounded, the sick and the dying in countless hospital wards. All too little is known of what these devoted nurses have done and are doing. Some day the whole story will be given to the world; and the hearts of all will be thrilled by stirring deeds of love and bravery. In the meantime it is pleasing and comforting to catch fleeting glimpses of a portion of the work as depicted in this sheaf of letters, now issued under the title of "My Beloved Poilus," written from the Front by a brave American nurse. Two outstanding features give special merit to these letters. They were not written for publication, but for an intimate circle of relatives and friends. And because of this they are not artificial, but are free and graceful, with homely touches here and there which add so much to their value. Amidst the incessant roar of mighty guns; surrounded by the wounded and the dying; shivering at times with cold, and wearied almost to the point of exhaustion, these letters were hurriedly penned. No time had she for finely-turned phrases. Neither were they necessary. The simple statements appeal more to the heart than most eloquent words. These letters will bring great comfort to many who have loved ones at the Front. They will tell them something of the careful sympathetic treatment the wounded receive. The glimpses given here and there, of the efforts made by surgeons and nurses alike to administer relief, and as far as possible to assuage the suffering of the wounded, should prove most comforting. What efforts are made to cheer the patients, and to brighten their lot, and what personal interest is taken in their welfare, are incidentally revealed in these letters. For instance, "The men had a wonderful Christmas Day (1916). They were like a happy lot of children. We decorated the ward with flags, holly and mistletoe, and paper flowers that the men made, and a tree in each ward." How these letters bring home to us the terrible tragedy that is going on far across the ocean. And yet mingled with the feeling of sadness is the spirit of inspiration which comes from the thought of those brave men who are offering themselves to maintain the right, and the devoted women who are ministering to their needs. Our heads bow with reverence, and our hearts thrill with pride, when we think of them. But we must do more than think and feel; we must do our part in supporting them and upholding their hands. They have given their all. They can do no more, and dare we do less? H. A. CODY, Rector St. James Church. Author of "Rod of the Lone Patrol," "Frontiersman," "If any Man Sin," Etc., Etc. St. John, N. B., February 19th, 1917. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ INTRODUCTION The writer of these letters, a graduate of McGill College, and the Presbyterian Hospital, New York, left New York in the Spring of 1914 with a patient, for the Continent, finally locating at Divonne-Les-Bains, France, near the Swiss border, where they were on August 1st, when war broke out. She immediately began giving her assistance in "Red Cross" work, continuing same until the latter part of November, when she returned with her patient to New York--made a hurried visit to her home in St. John and after Christmas returned to again take up the work which these letters describe. [Illustration: Ambulance Volant, France.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "MY BELOVED POILUS" Divonne-les-bains, France, August 2, 1914. DEAR MOTHER: The awful war we have all been dreading is upon us--_France is Mobilizing_. At five o'clock yesterday morning the tocsin sounded from the Mairie (village hall) and men, women, and children all flocked to hear the proclamation which the Mayor of the village read. It called upon all of military age--between twenty years and fifty years--to march at once, and inside of twenty-four hours five hundred men had gone, they knew not where. The bravery of these villagers--men and women--is remarkable, and not to be forgotten. No murmuring, no complaining,--just, "Ma Patrie," tying up the little bundle--so little--and going; none left but old men, women and children. We have started teaching the women and girls to make bandages, sponges, etc., for the hospital which will be needed here. Divonne-Les-Bains, France. August 23, 1914. Your letter came yesterday--twenty days on the way--but I was fortunate to get it at all; so many of these poor people, whose nearest and dearest have gone to fight for their country, have had no word from them since they marched away, and they do not know where they are. From this little village 500 men left the first day of mobilization; there is not a family who has not some one gone, and from some both fathers and sons have gone, as the age limit is from twenty to fifty years. I am filled with admiration and respect for these people. The courage of both the men and women is remarkable. There is no hesitation, and no grumbling, and everyone tries to do whatever he or she can to help the cause. I do not know if I told you, in my last letter, of the poor lady who walked all night through the dark and storm to see her son who was leaving the next morning. All the horses and motors had been taken by the Government for the army, so she started at eleven o'clock at night, all by her self, and got here about five in the morning--her son left at seven, so she had two hours with him. While there are such mothers in France she cannot fall. There are many such stories I might tell you, but I have not the time. The "Red Cross" has started a branch hospital here, and I have been helping them to get it in order. It is just about ready now, and we may get soldiers any day. I have classes every morning and find many of the women very quick to learn the rudiments of nursing. Every one in the place is making supplies and our sitting room is a sort of depot where they come for work. If my patient is as well in October as she is now I am going to stay and give my services to the "Red Cross." If I have to go home with her I will come back--I would be a coward and deserter if I did not do all I could for these poor brave people. October 25, 1914. Another Sunday--but this is cold and rainy--the days slip by so quickly I cannot keep track of them. We have only two soldiers left at the hospital--they tell us every day that others are coming. The country all about is perfectly beautiful with the autumn coloring. We do not see any of the horrors of the war here. If it were not for the tales that come to us from outside, and for the poor broken men who come back, we would not know it was going on. There are very enthusiastic accounts of the Canadians in all the English papers. PARIS, about February 15, 1915. Back safely in Paris after taking my patient to New York and a short visit home, which now seems like a dream. I have been spending a lot of time at the American Ambulance this week, but have not gone out to stay as yet, as I still have to see some other small hospitals and had to go to the Clearing House to make arrangements for sending supplies, which I brought from home and New York, to different places. I have seen quite a number of operations, and as X-ray pictures are taken of all the cases there is no time wasted in hunting for a bullet; they get the bullet out in about two minutes. They are using Dr. Criles' anæsthetic--nitrous oxide gas and oxygen--it has no bad effects whatever. The patients come out of it at once as soon as the mask is taken off, and there is no nausea or illness at all; and most of them go off laughing, for they cannot believe that it is all over,--they feel so well; but oh, mother, it is awful to see the sad things that have happened. In some cases there are only pieces of men left. One young chap, twenty-one years old, has lost both legs. At first he did not want to live, but now he is beginning to take an interest in things and is being fitted for wooden legs. The dental department has done wonderful work. They build up the frame work of the face and jaws and then the surgeons finish the work by making new noses and lips and eyelids. I thought I had seen a good many wonderful things, but I did not believe it possible to make any thing human out of some of the pieces of faces that were left, and in some of the cases they even get rid of the scars. Photos are taken when they first come in, and then in the various stages of recovery. One of the worst cases I saw the last day I was out. He has to have one more operation to fill in a small hole in one side of his nose and then he will be all right. Last Sunday one of the men in Miss B----'s ward was given the medal for distinguished service. He had saved his officer's life--went right out before the guns and carried him in on his back. He was struck himself just before he got to his own lines and one leg almost torn off. When they brought him to the American Ambulance, all the doctors, except Dr. B----, said his leg would have to come off at once--he refused to do it and saved the leg for the man. It will be stiff, of course, as the knee joint is gone entirely; but will be better than a wooden leg, and the poor man is so pleased. [Illustration: The Dog who Saved His Master's Life.] I must tell you about the wonderful dog that is at the American Ambulance; perhaps you have read about him in some of the papers. His master came from Algeria, and of course did not expect to take his dog with him, but when the ship left the wharf the dog jumped into the sea and swam after it, so they put off a boat and hauled him on board, and he has been with his master all through the war. He was in the trenches with him, and one day a German shell burst in the trench and killed all of his companions and buried this man in the mud and dirt as well as injuring him terribly. Strange to say the dog was not hurt at all, and the first thing the man remembered was the dog digging the mud off his face. As soon as he realized his master was alive he ran off for help, and when they were brought into the Ambulance together there were not many dry eyes about. After he was sure his master was being taken care of he consented to go and be fed, and now he is having the time of his life. He is the most important person in the place. He has a beautiful new collar and medal, lives in the diet kitchen, and is taken out to walk by the nurses, and best of all is allowed to see his master every day. I will send a photo of him to you. His master has lost one leg, the other is terribly crushed, and one hand also, but Doctor B---- thinks he can save them. I think I shall go back to Divonne-Les-Bains--they are urging me so strongly and there seems to be more need there. February 19, 1915. Back again in Divonne-Les-Bains. It seems as if I had never been away--I have fallen into the old work so easily. I left Paris Sunday night about eight o'clock and arrived here at two the next day, and had a warm welcome from everybody. One poor man died of tetanus before I got back. I have nine on my floor. I have thirteen patients, nine in bed all the time, and the others up part of the day. One of the women of the village helps me in the morning, two others help with the cleaning up and serving meals; everything has to be carried up three flights of stairs, so you can imagine the work. I have a very comfortable room at the hotel, go to the Ambulance at seven in the morning and generally get back at nine or half past. I do not know how long I shall be here--until this lot get well or more come. One of the patients is a chef, and was acting as cook for the regiment when a shell landed in his soup pot; he was not wounded, but his heart was knocked out of place by the shock and his back was twisted when he fell. February 28, 1915. The poor man who was so very ill died on the morning of the twenty-third after three weeks of intense suffering--I stayed that night with him. The others are all out of danger with the exception of two who cannot get well--one is paralyzed and the other has tuberculosis. I went to the village for the first time yesterday and was quite touched by the welcome I received at every little shop and house. The people seemed genuinely glad to have me back. They cannot seem to get over the fact that I have crossed the ocean twice and come back to them. To them the ocean is a thing of terror, especially since the war broke out. Doctor R---- has a great many sick people in the country about here to take care of in addition to the soldiers. In one house they had nothing to eat but potatoes, but he is a good deal like our dear old doctor, and feeds and clothes and takes care of them himself. March 5, 1915. I can scarcely believe that it is nearly three weeks since I left Paris. I have been so busy, that the days fly by. Some of the men are leaving to-morrow, and most of the others are getting along very well. Mr. E---- is indeed kind. He has just sent an order to the village people, who make beautiful lace and embroidery, for $500.00 worth of work. They are so happy about it, for it means food for many of them. One poor woman, who has lost her husband in the war and has a child to take care of, can earn only eighteen francs a month, that is $3.60, and that is all she has to live on. March 7, 1915. One of the American doctors from the American Ambulance came to see me yesterday. He was very much interested in what he saw and is coming back in ten days. We have had one or two beautiful days, the pussy-willows are beginning to come out, and primroses everywhere. Dr. S---- said that the man who owned the wonderful dog that is at the American Ambulance is really getting well, and they managed to save one leg and the crushed hand. In Dr. B----'s service he did not do a single amputation during the months of January and February,--a very wonderful record. Dr. S---- seems to think there is no hope of my poor paralyzed man getting better, he may live for twenty years but can never walk. I am giving him English lessons every day. He is very quick at learning; it helps pass the time. Poor man, he has already been in bed six months. March 21, 1915. This has been the most lovely Spring day. The violets are blooming in the fields, they are smaller than ours but very fragrant; the yellow primroses are beautiful and grow everywhere. There is still lots of snow on the mountains but none in the valley. If it were not for the soldiers who are here we could scarcely believe that terrible fighting is going on so near us. A lot of our men went off last week, some of them scarcely able to hobble, poor things, but all the hospitals are being cleared out to make room for the freshly wounded. We are expecting a new lot every day, and have prepared ten extra beds. I will have some letters this week to send to the "Red Cross" and "The De Monts" Chapter, I. O. D. E., thanking them for the things they sent back by me; they have been so much appreciated, done so much good and relieved so much distress. I gave some to Mademoiselle de C---- who sent them to a small hospital in Normandy near their chateau, some to the hospital here, and some to a small hospital not far from here where they are very poor; the doctor who is in charge there nearly wept when he knew the things were for him. March 26, 1915. Another beautiful day and the air is soft and balmy as a day in June. The woods and fields are full of spring flowers, there are big soft gray pussies on all the willow trees and the other trees are beginning to show a faint tinge of green. It is certainly a lovely place. You probably felt much relieved that I was not in Paris at the time of the last air raid when the bombs were dropped. One fell so near the Ambulance at Neuilly that one of the doctors was knocked out of bed by the shock. I had my paralyzed man out on the balcony to-day, it is the first time in six months that he has been out. One of the men here, who has lost the use of both hands, told me to-day that he had six brothers in the army; two have been killed, two wounded and two are still at the front. He was a coachman in a private family, has lost a thumb of one hand and on the other has only the thumb and one finger left. Fortunately his employer is a good man and will take care of him; but think of the poor man,--horses are his chief joy, and he will never be able to drive again. [Illustration: The hopelessly paralyzed man who afterwards walked two miles on crutches.] April 2, 1915. Easter Sunday and still raining. We had a splendid service from Mr. R---- and a Communion service after. The service is more like the Presbyterian than any other. We have four new soldiers but the large convoy has not yet arrived. There has been awful fighting in Alsace lately, so the wounded must come soon. To-day we had a specially good dinner for the men. Madam B---- gave them cigars and Easter eggs, and after dinner they sang some of their songs, then gave us three cheers. They are a fine lot of men and so grateful for everything we do for them. The story of the dog has gone through the whole country, but it is nice to know that it is really true, and to have seen the dog. Dr. B---- was able to save the other leg of the dog's master, and after another operation he thinks he will have the use of his hand. April 10, 1915. We had a severe snow storm to-day and yesterday also, and in between the snow storms it poured rain; all the lovely, spring weather has disappeared. Wednesday night they announced the arrival of a train of wounded, for the next morning at half-past five, but did not tell us how many to expect. We all went to the Ambulance at half-past five and got everything ready for dressing and beds prepared for thirty. At seven thirteen arrived,--all convalescents, and no dressings at all to do. The last time forty came, and all in a dreadful state of infection, so we never know what to expect. I am not sorry I came back to Divonne for I feel that I have been able to help more here than in Paris; there they have many to help and here very few. I am sending you a photo of three of my patients--Chasseurs d' Alpine or "Blue Devils" as the Germans call them--they are the ones who have done such wonderful work in Alsace. [Illustration: Three Chasseurs d'Alpine called by the Germans "Blue Devils."] April 19, 1915. I have had quite a busy week, for my men have been coming and going. The paralyzed man has been sent to Bourg, the two Chasseurs d' Alpine have gone and I have six new ones--this lot is ill, not wounded. There are three officers among them,--one is a cousin of Madam B----, the French lady who helped establish this Ambulance. Her husband came on Thursday; he has eight days leave. He is very interesting, for he has been all up through the north of France. He is adjutant to one of the generals and travels from eighty to one hundred miles a day in a motor, carrying despatches. There is a French aviator here, but he has not got his machine, so I am afraid there is no hope for me. April 25, 1915. They took down all the stoves in the Ambulance last week, and the day after it snowed; we had to put some of the men to bed to keep them warm. We have been very busy all week, new patients coming every day till now we have forty. Most of them are not wounded. Poor fellows, they are utterly done out; some have pneumonia, others rheumatism, one paralyzed and all sorts of other things. This is a wonderful place for them to come to and most of them get well very quickly. They are talking of increasing the number of beds in the hospital and of making it a regular military one. In that case they will send a military doctor here and the whole thing will be re-organized. They want me to promise to take charge of it, but I do not think it would be a wise thing, there is so much red tape and so many things about the military organization I do not understand, that I am afraid I would get into hot water at once. I am sending you a circular of Mademoiselle de Cauomonts' lace school. They do lovely work and need all the help and orders that they can get. They will be glad to execute orders by mail for anyone writing them to Divonne-Les-Bains, France. May 2, 1915. I have never seen anything as lovely as the country is now, it is like one great garden; how I wish you could be here. I have had a busy day, as one of my patients had to be operated on. Doctor R---- took a piece of shrapnel out of his arm, and two others have been pretty ill; four leave to-morrow, so the general clearing up will begin again. My poor old lady who had a stroke of paralysis died yesterday. I have been helping take care of her. The only son is at the front. So many old people are dying this year; when they get ill they don't seem to have any power of resistance; poor things, they have endured so much they cannot stand any more. There is a poor little woman here who comes from Dinant, that was destroyed by the Germans in the early part of the war. She has lost all trace of her father and mother; her husband and brother have both been killed and their property utterly destroyed. Mr. B----, the pastor of the Protestant Church, has not been able to find his mother, who disappeared last August. Every day we hear of something new. The papers are full of accounts of the gallant fighting of the Canadians, but the losses have been very heavy. May 9, 1915. It is just a year to-day since I sailed from New York, starting on our trip with Mrs. E----. Little did we think of the horrors that have happened since. Seven more men went off last night, so we have only twenty left. I have ten on my floor, but only four in bed; the others are able to be out all day. Charrel, one of my patients who just left, was one of six brothers, all of whom went off the first days of the war; three have been killed, the other three wounded. I am going to Lyons on Thursday for a few days to visit some of the hospitals. The French papers are full of the heroism of the Canadian troops; they have done wonderful work at Ypres, but at what a terrible cost. I feel so proud every time I see the dressing gowns the DeMonts Chapter sent me--they are the nicest we have. May 18, 1915. I left here Thursday at noon with Madam B---- who went to Paris. Before I left I telegraphed to Madam M----, the wife of the soldier who was here such a long time, asking her to get me a room, but when I arrived I found the whole family at the station to meet me and they insisted on my going home to stay with them. They are very simple people, but so kind and hospitable. I think it is quite an event having a stranger stay with them. We ate in the kitchen, and the whole family seemed to sleep in a cupboard opening off of it. I saw a lot of hospitals and was rather favorably impressed with them. At the Hotel Dieu, they had received seven hundred patients within twenty-four hours. I think the saddest part was the eye ward, there were so many who would never see again and some of them so young. There were some with both legs gone and others both feet, and many with one arm or leg missing. The boats on the river that were fitted up as hospitals were very interesting, but I fancy would be very hot in the summer and the mosquitoes would be terrible. Saturday I spent the day with Mademoiselle R----, who had been staying at the Hotel at Divonne for a time. The R----'s are a wealthy family who have lived in Lyons for generations. Mademoiselle was able to take me to a good many of the hospitals, as they have done a good deal for them. We visited them in the morning, which was much more interesting, as we saw the work going on. At two of the hospitals wounded were arriving when we left there, so we saw the whole thing. I also saw the dressing being done in one of the large military hospitals. In the afternoon we went to a "Red Cross" hospital, where she worked in the lingerie; there are fifty beds and the patients are taken care of by the sisters. They seemed to be very cheerful and well looked after. Sunday morning I got up at 3.30 and took a train at 4.30 for Romans where Mrs. C---- is working in a military hospital. At eight I arrived at Tourons and had to walk from there to a small village called Tain, where I got a tramway to Romans. I arrived at eleven, had my lunch on the sidewalk before a cafe,--a most excellent meal for fifty cents. I found Mrs. C---- at the convent, where she is staying; fortunately she had the afternoon off. She has charge of the dressings and all of the infected operations. At the hospital where she is they have forty wounded Germans; they seem very contented and glad to be there. Mrs. C---- says it is dreadful to do their dressings, for they have no self-control at all; they have a certain dogged courage that makes them fight as they do, in the face of certain death, but when they are wounded they cannot stand the pain. The French, on the contrary, seldom say a word; they will let one do anything, and if the pain is very bad they moan occasionally or say a swear word, but I have never seen one who lost control of himself and screamed. I had dinner with Mrs. C---- at the convent, and at 7.15 took the train for Valence where I changed and waited two hours for the train to Lyons, but there was so much going on at the station that the time did not seem long,--troops coming and going all the time and a hospital train with three hundred wounded arrived. Monday morning I left for Divonne and arrived back very tired but well satisfied with my trip. I found two new patients, one with a leg as big as an elephant and the other out of his head. I have twelve now on my floor. Just think! lily of the valley grows wild here, and you can get a bushel in a morning; the whole place is sweet with the perfume. May 29, 1915. We got twelve more patients Wednesday,--six left. I still have fifteen; this lot were all ill. One man is quite a character. The doctor put him on milk diet the first day--but he did not approve, so he went to the village and bought a loaf of bread and some ham. Between the florist of the village and the wife of one of the soldiers I am kept well supplied with roses. I wish I could share my riches with you. I am anxiously waiting to hear of the safe arrival of the Twenty-fourth; as we have heard nothing, they must be all right. It is hard to have them go but I cannot understand the attitude of those who will not go or who object to their men and boys going. You are just beginning to feel now what they have been suffering here since August last. Madam L'H---- was called back to Verdun to-day; she was supposed to have three weeks' holidays, but has only been away ten days. She is not fit to go back but there is no help for it. There was great excitement here when Italy finally declared war. It is awful to think of the brutes throwing bombs on Venice. I do hope they will not do any harm there. I must say good-night, for I am tired. I am up at half-past five every morning and seldom get off duty before nine at night. June 20, 1915. Yesterday we got five patients,--the four worst were consigned to me. One poor chap was shot through the body and the spine was injured; they do not know just what the extent of the injury is, but he is completely paralyzed from the waist down. Fortunately he is very small, so it is not difficult to take care of him; he is the most cheerful soul, and says he has much to be thankful for as he has never suffered at all. When he was shot he simply had the sensation of his legs disappearing. When he fell he said to a comrade, "Both my legs have gone," but he had no pain at all. His comrade assured him that he had not lost his legs, but he said he could not believe it until he got to the hospital. He has received the Medaille Militaire for bravery, and his comrades said he certainly deserved it. He is so glad to get here, where it is real country and quiet. We put him on a chaise longue on the balcony to-day and he has been out of doors all day long. It is after ten o'clock, but I am still at the Ambulance. We are waiting for a train that is bringing us fifteen wounded directly from Alsace. Poor souls, they will be glad to get here, for they have been a long time on the way. No letters this week; regulations are very strict again, and they are holding up all mail for eight or ten days. June 22, 1915. I had to stop my letter as the men arrived. We got eighteen instead of fifteen. Such a tired dirty lot they were; they came straight from the battle field, and had only had one dressing done since they were wounded. Some of them came on stretchers, others were able to walk, as they were wounded in the arms and head. I drew two from this lot, which brings my number up to seventeen again. One of mine has both bones broken in his leg and the other is wounded in the left side and shoulder. One poor chap had been a prisoner in one of the trenches for four days and they were unable to get any food all that time; most of them have slept ever since they arrived, they were so exhausted. To-day a military doctor came from Besançon to show us about some special electrical treatment. They are going to increase the beds by fifty to begin with, and later may make it three hundred. The news is not good to-day, the Russians seem to be retreating all the time and the losses in the north are terrible. There seems to be no doubt in the minds of many people that the war will last another year at least; it seems too terrible. June 27, 1915. I did not get my letter off to-day as there was so much to do. We have had inspection all week. They have finally decided to enlarge the hospital very much and make it a semi-military institution of four hundred beds. We are to turn the large dining-room into a ward with fifty beds, and the large part of the hotel will hold three hundred more. They want me to take charge. Dr. R---- will be chief with two assistants. There will be forty men nurses--convalescent soldiers--and I do not know how many more women nurses. I am very glad it has been so decided, for it is a great pity this place has not been of more use. Our last lot of men are getting on very well now; but we have had a hard week, for some of them were very ill. The doctor was very much afraid one man would lose his arm, but he has managed to save it. I have grown to be a sort of official shotsnapper for the Ambulance and village. It is really very interesting and my camera is very good. Did I send you the snaps of the Bayin baby? She is only nine months old and runs around like a rabbit--is as pretty as a picture. I am so sleepy I can hardly see, so good-night. July 4, 1915. I was glad to get your letter this week; three weeks on the way is a long time to wait. I have such mixed feelings when I hear that the troops have left St. John. My heart aches for those left behind, but I am so glad to know they are on the way, for they are needed badly and they will get a royal welcome, for Canadians have proved their worth. When they were in barracks and had nothing to do but drill they were not always angels, but when there was real work to be done their equal was not to be found. The French papers were full of the stories of their bravery. There were some officers who said that while others were splendid fighters the Canadians were marvelous. It must have been terribly hard for Mrs. ---- to let S---- go. I wish you would ask her for his address. I will try and get in touch with him and if he should be ill or wounded tell her I will go to him if I have to walk to get there. Get D----'s address also, so I can look after him. When I hear of them all being over here a wave of homesickness comes over me and I feel that I must go and join them. There is much to be done on this side now, for the fighting in Alsace has been terrible. The last lot of soldiers that came were Chasseurs d' Alpine, and out of one thousand two hundred who went off only five hundred came back, and the greater number of them wounded. Fifteen young men from this village have been missing since the terrible battle of three weeks ago, the deaths of a half a dozen have been confirmed but of the others nothing is known. I am afraid there is no chance of the war finishing before the winter is over. I wish somebody would organize a "French Day" or "Divonne Day" and collect pennies for me; we will need so many things before the winter is over. The general who came the other day said to make the money we have go to the furthest possible point, and then make debts--the soldiers must be taken care of. July 11, 1915. We have had arrivals and departures all week. The days are not half long enough to do all that is necessary. My four men who came for electrical treatment are getting on wonderfully well, the big one who was paralyzed and who could not move hand or foot when he came, is now walking without crutches, and feeds himself. The poor little chasseur who was shot through the body is really better. He is beginning to walk--with a great deal of help, of course. He can make the movements of walking and can put both legs straight out in front of him, and the doctor says there is great hope of a permanent cure. Poor little man, he deserves to get well, for I have never seen such courage and patience. We begin to-morrow to prepare the big dining-room for fifty new patients, so we shall have a busy week. I am to have charge of the big ward and keep my floor as well. I will have two military men nurses and some more people from the village to help. July 17, 1915. We have had a most terrific rain for the last two days--the people are getting anxious on account of the grain. There was no celebration in the village on the fourteenth as is usual, but at the Ambulance we had a little feast in honor of the men who were at Metezeral. We have four from the Seventh Chasseurs, whose regiment was decorated for unusual bravery. My paralyzed man stood up alone last Sunday for the first time and now he walks, pushing a chair before him like a baby. He is the happiest thing you can imagine; for seven months he has had no hope of ever walking again. Seven left last week and six more go on Monday, so we shall probably get a train load before long. I have got a small English boy to help me in the mornings. He has been at school in Switzerland and the whole family have come here for the summer in order to help at the Ambulance. One of the great actors from Paris was here on Wednesday and played and sang for the men. He is making a tour in an automobile and visiting all the hospitals in order to give performances for the soldiers. A collection is taken up afterwards that goes towards the support of the hospital. The men were a most appreciative and enthusiastic audience. There is a young Swiss doctor from Geneva here now who has come to help Dr. ---- who is very tired. I think he is rather surprised at the amount of work the old doctor gets through in a day. He said this morning that he would have to get up earlier in order to keep up with him. The brother of my chambermaid has been missing for a month and the poor girl is terribly afraid he has been killed. He was at Arras, and the fighting there has been terrible. Fifteen of the young men from the village are missing and every day comes the news of the death of some one. We got five new men yesterday for electrical treatment; two of them are regular giants and we cannot get any clothes or shoes to fit them. They are devoted to my little paralyzed man, and sit around and watch him as if he was a baby just learning to walk. I feel as sleepy as a dried apple to-night, so please forgive me if I tell you the same things over many times. July 25, 1915. Miss Todd took me out in her motor to-day for an hour. We took Daillet, my star patient, with us. It was a pleasure to see his enjoyment. Doctor R---- was much surprised at the progress he had made in eight days; he says there is no doubt but that he will be entirely cured. Daillet wrote to his mother and told her that he could stand alone and was beginning to walk, but she did not believe it; she thought that he was just trying to cheer her up, so he asked me to take a photo of him standing up so that he could send it to her. He was the proudest, happiest thing you can imagine when he sent it off. Then his aunt came to see him, so the poor mother is finally convinced that it is true, and is coming to see him as soon as the haying is done, but she has to work in the fields now and cannot get away. It is wonderful the work that the women do here. There are only two old horses left in the whole village, so the women harness themselves into the rakes and waggons and pull them in place of the horses--and they so seldom complain of the hard work. I asked one woman if she did not find it very hard, and she said at first it came very difficult but she got used to it and it was nice to be able to do their part. We got twenty men from Alsace on Friday--some of them badly wounded. They did not arrive till half-past eleven at night, and it was three in the morning before we got the dressings done and got them to bed. It is the second time that some of them have been wounded. They are all Chasseurs d' Alpines--they are a splendid type. Some of them had both legs and both arms wounded. Yesterday we were rather anxious about several of them, but to-day they are better. They generally sleep about three days after they arrive, they are so done out. Mrs. H---- has had to leave to care for a typhoid patient, so my hands are very full. My English boy is getting trained rapidly; he is only seventeen and not very strong, too young to go to the war but very keen to do something to help. Do not worry about me, I am as well as possible and as strong as a horse, but as my day begins at half-past five in the morning and ends at half-past nine at night I fall asleep over my letters. Thanks for the clippings; I would not have known B---- if the name had not been there. I do not dare to think of his coming, and yet I would not be proud of him if he did not want to come. I shall try and get up to the north later so as to be nearer him when he comes. Good-night, mother; these are sad times, but we must not lose courage. I wish I could see you to-night. August 1, 1915. To say that I was delighted will not express my feelings when I got the letter from the Loyalist Chapter, I. O. D. E., enclosing cheque. It was awfully good of them to help us here, for I realize the demands for help on every side and it is only natural that they should send to the Canadians first. But O! it is so badly needed and will do so much good here. I had been racking my brain trying to think of a way to scratch up a few pennies, and then this delightful surprise came. This hospital is called the "Paradise of the Seventh Region," for it is so very far ahead of most of the French military hospitals. But while there is a good deal of luxury on one side, such as pleasant airy rooms, comfortable beds, good food and air, on the other hand there is a great lack of what we consider necessities. The first thing I did when I got the letter with the money was to order a foot tub for each floor, slippers for the patients when they are in the house, scissors for the pharmacy and for each floor, and various other small things that I have been longing for and that will save many steps. Now that the capacity of the hospital has been increased by fifty beds, it is more difficult than ever to get money from the general fund for things of that kind; it really has to be kept for food and heating. We also need instruments and basins, etc., for a table for dressings in the new ward, as we have absolutely nothing. Then it is so nice to have a fund that we can draw on in case of need. Sometimes the men are terribly poor and cannot afford to get anything for themselves when they leave. Sometimes a ticket for a wife or daughter to come to see them and cheer them up. It is the second time some of these men have been wounded and they have not seen their families for a year. It is just a year to-day (August 1st) since mobilization began. At five o'clock in the morning the tocsin sounded and all the village gathered at the Town Hall to read the notice of mobilization. There were many sad and anxious hearts then, but many more now, for there is not a family who has not lost someone who is near and dear to them--and still it goes on. I wonder when the end will come. My prize patient, Daillet, walks down stairs by himself now by holding on to the railing like a child. We are all proud of him. The doctor who sent him here from Besançon came in the other day to see how he was getting on and he could not believe it when he saw him. I am almost asleep so I must stop. I made a mistake this morning, got up at half-past four instead of half-past five. August 15, 1915. In the face of all the terrible things which are happening one must not worry over little things. I have got to the stage now when I feel as if one should never complain or worry if they have a roof over their heads and enough
{'title': "'My Beloved Poilus' by Agnes Warner", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}