Last we visited the chapel, of which Father ---- was so proud. A little
musty-smelling chapel with a crude figure of the Madonna in a high
window niche at one end. Father ---- had placed above it a pane of blue
glass, of a blue which turned the sunlight into a wonderfully cool,
pure colour. He said it was the emblem of hope to him, and that when
his heart was heavy behind his cheerful smile, he would come in there
alone to think and to pray.
We were in no hurry to go, but there was still a long stretch to be
covered before we reached Wisques, where the girls were housed. So we
said good-by to Father ----, his priests, and his children. I only hope
I may see them again some day.
Our ride was now enlivened by the presence of many aeroplanes, friendly
ones, maneuvering now near the earth, now so high that they were almost
lost to sight. They were probably indulging in preliminary exercises
before scouting over the German lines.
Arrived at Wisques, we were welcomed by the nuns into the beautiful old
château, now an orphan asylum. The Queen had recently paid a visit here
and the whole place was decorated in her honour with coloured papers
and garlands of leaves and branches. It had been a very great and
wonderful occasion for the motherless little girls. Coffee was served
us out of a brilliantly shining kettle from the huge old-fashioned
stove in the great open fireplace. Everything was so spotlessly
clean! The nuns certainly took good care of the children. The girls'
dormitories were neat, here and there brightened by a piece of coloured
cloth or a picture or a bit of ribbon. There were only the barest
necessities, and none too many of them. The girls were taught to do the
housework and to sew, in addition to their regular school studies. They
were all dressed in black and the Mother Superior bemoaned the fact
that the Abbé simply could not keep them in shoes. Several classes were
assembled to sing for us, Belgian and French songs, and finally in my
honour the nearest they could come to anything American, "God Save the
King"--at least that was in the "strange lady's" language--English.
I wandered away from the others and out of doors into the garden.
There were the real babies, most of them just big enough to walk. They
were digging and playing, twenty-five or more of them, in charge of a
couple of the older girls and one nurse. I sat down on a broken stump
and tried to make love to one of the little boys. He was awfully shy
at first and would just look at me out of his big blue eyes. All of
a sudden he toddled over to the other side of the yard and after him
toddled the whole bunch. He was certainly a coming leader. In the far
corner was a perfect carpet of dandelions. Each baby picked one or two
and, like a flock of little chicks, they came tumbling back again to
present me with the flowers. It was too sweet for words and the tears
came to my eyes. I wanted to hug them all.... If only all the little
war orphans were cared for as well as these in charge of the good Abbé!
May money and supplies never fail to come to him for this good work.
(Miss Spencer then describes her visit to the military depots where
the soldiers receive the comfort packets sent to the soldiers by our
American women; she tells of the gratitude of the soldiers and how they
idolize the women in far away America who are thinking of them and
working for them. She then narrates her experiences in the Italian war
zone, with this appeal to Americans: "Is there really one of us with a
heart and mind who dares to let twenty-four hours pass without dropping
his mite of time, sympathy or money into the brave hand of suffering
Europe! Men, women and children, they need us! If we do all we can,
then we are not doing half enough! The horror of their suffering is
hideous! The magnificence of their sacrifice is sublime!")
"WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE"--THE HEARTS OF HEROES
_Collected from the Soldiers_
_By A. De Lapradelle and Frederic R. Coudert_
This is a series of extracts from letters written from the French
trenches, from hospitals in France, from officials and soldiers in
the French Army and from members of different private families.
Spontaneously written and telling of the things as they are from
the personal viewpoint of each writer, these letters form an
excellent record of history in the making. Suffering, courage and
hope speak their simple language and without intent reveal the very
soul of the courageous nation. The letters here reproduced are by
permission of the publishers, _D. Appleton and Company_: copyright
1916