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 to eat, and that all one's efforts should be given to

helping others.

I feel perfectly overwhelmed with the letters that ought to be written,

but cannot find time to do them. I have been up all night and a couple

of days. We got thirty new patients last night. They arrived at 3 a.m.

and it was half-past five before we got them to bed. I did not get any

of this lot, as my rooms were full. There were not so many

wounded,--more sick, rheumatism, bronchitis, etc. One poor man said it

was like going directly from hell to heaven; it was the first time he

had slept in a bed for a year. Some of them have been wounded for the

second time.

It is nearly eleven and I must be up early, so good-night.

August 23, 1915.

Your letter has been long delayed, as they are very strict and holding

up the mails again.

We heard this morning that there are French troops guarding the border

at Crassier, just half a mile from here. We hear all the Swiss border is

to be protected by barbed wire. I do not know what it all means unless

it is on account of spies.

We got fifteen more patients last week, one yesterday and one to-day,

but as several went away we have still the same number--eighty-four.

We have had a very busy morning. An inspector arrived just as we were

ready to operate, and between the two I did not know whether I was on my

head or my heels. Thirty of our men will go off on Monday and we will

probably get a train full later in the week.

We have a phonograph with a rasping voice that plays from morning to

night. The soldiers love it; the poor things are so used to noise that

they don't seem happy without it, but sometimes I feel as if I could

scream.

One of the men got a telegram saying his mother was dying; the doctor

gave him forty-eight hours leave--all he could possibly do--so he went

home and has just got back; could not stay for the funeral, but was so

thankful to have been able to see her. If he had been at the front that

would not have been possible--only another sad consequence of the war.

Another soldier received the news of the death of his little girl.

Miss Todd took me out in her motor the other day. We had a beautiful run

over the mountains; the view was magnificent. We took one of the

soldiers with us and he enjoyed himself immensely; it was the first time

he had ever been in one.

Sunday, August 29, 1915.

It is pouring rain, it is sad to say, as the soldiers are having a

little celebration. A band came from Noyon and the Count de Divonne made

a speech, two of the men received their Croix de Guerre, the doctor

made such a nice little speech to each of them. It was very touching to

see the groups of men, some with arms in slings and others with legs and

heads bandaged, and some who could not stand at all, still others were

in their beds. The decorations were given in the Grand Salle.

I am not sure if all your letters reach me or not, sometimes I get two

in a week and then again none for three weeks.

Thirty-three men go off to-morrow, some of them cured and back to the

front, some who will never be better, and some to go home on

convalescence.

To-day the florist in the village sent a clothes basket full of roses to

the Ambulance for the fete. I thought of you and wished you could have

some.

September 5, 1915.

Thanks for the money you sent from a friend in your last letter. I will

use it wisely and make it go as far as possible. There will be more

suffering this winter than there was last, but they are so brave, these

people, they seldom complain of anything.

There is a little woman here whose husband was killed. She makes twenty

cents a day selling papers and gets ten cents a day pension. She has

three children, the eldest a girl of twelve. I got her a good pair of

boots the other day and warm underclothes for the other children. She

was so grateful.

Don't worry about me. My expenses are very small, I have not bought any

clothes and do not need any this winter.

To-day they had a big concert in the hotel, the proceeds go to the

Ambulance.

We have had an awful week of rain and cold, but hope for a little more

sunshine to thaw us out.

Our good doctor is going to be married next month. I am so glad, for he

lives all alone and needs some one to look after him.

I shall have to go to bed to get warm. There is no heat in this house

and when it rains it is like an ice box.

September 11, 1915.

I expect to leave here in two weeks to go to an Ambulance at the front.

It is somewhere in the north in Belgium. I think Dr. R---- is sorry to

have me leave, but it will be a much larger field and the kind of a

place where there will be much to do. They have all been so nice to me

here about helping me get my papers ready to send to the Minister of

War, so I do not think there will be any difficulty of my getting

through. I go to Paris first, then to Dunkirk, where Mrs. T---- will

meet me, after that my destination is uncertain. Do not worry if you do

not hear from me regularly, for it may be difficult to get mail

through. I will write as usual.

I cannot tell you how glad I am to be able to go to the front, for it

means a chance to do good work and I shall be so glad to be in the north

when B---- comes over and nearer the Canadian boys. Even if I cannot

see them I shall not feel so far away.

One of my men to-day got word that his baby, seven months old, had just

died and the little girl of two is very ill. He expected to go next week

and has been counting the days till he could see them. He has never seen

the baby as it was born after the war began--another one of the sad

things of this awful war.

Good-night; I am so glad of the chance of active service.

September 16, 1915.

It was awfully good of Miss W---- to send the money to me, it is so

much needed here. I expect to get off Monday or Tuesday of next week.

September 19, 1915.

My orders came to-day, and I leave on Tuesday for Paris and on Friday

for Dunkirk. I am up to my eyes in work, for there is so much to be done

before leaving and new people to break in. Three military nurses arrived

yesterday, but it is rather difficult to manage for they know nothing at

all about taking care of sick people. They have all been at the front,

and wounded too badly to return and sent into an auxiliary service. One

is a priest, one a hair dresser and the third a horse dealer; however,

they are nice men and are willing to learn, which is a great thing in

their favor.

If they are able to raise any money for me I will see that it is wisely

spent. There is great need everywhere, and I am proud of the people of

St. John, they have done so much.

There is a poor woman who lives in a little village near here. She had

two sons--one has been killed in the war, the other a helpless cripple

for eighteen years and is not able to move out of his chair. He makes

baskets sometimes, but now there is no one to buy the baskets. The

mother goes out by the day but can earn so little. I gave him five

francs, one of the De Monts dressing gowns and some warm underclothes.

He was so grateful, poor boy, and says he will not feel the cold now.

His mother is away nearly all day and he sits by the window all alone

and depends upon the neighbours coming in to help him from time to time;

he is always cheerful and never complains.

The W----s have such a hard time--they get so little of their income

since the war began. It has gradually gone down from $3,000.00 per year

to $500.00; four of them to live on that amount. So many people are in

just the same condition, there is no end to the misery.

I do not know whether it is the French or the English army we are to

follow at my new post.

PARIS September 23, 1915.

I am off to-morrow at 7.30 a.m., to Boulogne, then Calais and reach

Dunkirk at 9.30 p.m.

I have had two very strenuous days and will be glad to rest in the train

to-morrow. It took such a time to get my papers in order. The

thermometer for the last two days has been about 100.

MOBILE NO. 1, France, 1915.

I am really not in France but Belgium. I cannot tell you just where, but

it is within ten miles of the firing line, and not far from the place

where so many of our boys from home have been sent. I thought when I

came here that it would be entirely English, as the lady who gave the

hospital is an American married to an Englishman. The English are not

far away but they are taken to their own hospitals.

We belong to a little wedge of the French that is in between the

English and Belgians. It is a regular field hospital and is composed of

a great many portable huts or sheds; some are fitted up as wards,

another the operating room, another the pharmacy, another supply room,

laundry, nurses' quarters, doctors' quarters, etc. It is a little colony

set down in the fields and the streets are wooden sidewalks.

The first night I arrived I did not sleep, for the guns roared all night

long, and we could see the flashes from the shells quite plainly; the

whole sky was aglow. The French and English guns sounded like a

continuous roar of thunder; but when the shells from the German guns

landed on this side we could feel a distinct shock, and everything in

our little shanty rattled.

Yesterday I saw my first battle in the air between German and French

aeroplanes. We could scarcely see the machines, they were so high up in

the air, but we could see the flashes from their guns quite distinctly

and hear the explosion of the shells. To-day a whole fleet of aeroplanes

passed over our heads; it was a wonderful sight.

There are about one hundred and fifty beds in all here.

I have been inspected by doctors, captains, generals, and all kinds of

people till I am weary. I hope they are satisfied at last, but I cannot

go off the hospital grounds until I have two different kinds of passes

given to me,--one is a permission to go on the roads about here and the

other is good as far as Dunkirk.

We have a man in our ward who had a piece of shrapnel the size of an egg

in his abdomen; they had to take out about half a yard of intestines,

which had been torn to pieces. He was also shot through the shoulder, in

the arm and leg. As we got him within two hours after he was wounded

there was no infection, and having a clever surgeon he is getting along

famously. Another poor chap has lost his right arm and shot through the

liver as well as being cut up by piece of shrapnel--he is getting well

also. Two have died, and it is a blessing; for to live in darkness the

rest of one's life is worse than death. The Germans are using a new kind

of gas bomb that blinds the men.

It is pouring rain to-night and cheerless enough here, but I can only

think of the poor men in the trenches.

I got a joyful surprise to-day--a letter from Mr. Bell enclosing post

office order from Mr. Calhoun, of Philadelphia. Nothing gives me so much

pleasure as to help these poor people.

It is beginning to get cold. I shall get bed socks for the men, for they

have not enough hot water bags to go round and all suffer from cold

feet.

I passed Colonel MacLaren's hospital in the train--it is very

impressive to see the rows and rows of white tents. I also saw some

Canadian nurses in the distance, and did so want to get out and speak to

them.

I must go to bed now to get warm. As long as one keeps going the cold is

not so apparent but when one sits still it is not pleasant.

There are four English, three American and three French nurses here.

October 3, 1915.

My fund is like the widow's cruse,--it never gives out. Somebody is

always sending me something. I do hope they all realize how grateful I

am and how much good I have been able to do. I have been very careful

how I spent it.

A boy of twenty went off to-day. He had absolutely nothing warm to put

on him, so I got him an outfit at Dunkirk--he was almost blown to

pieces, poor boy, and he said that one sock was all that was left of his

clothes. They provide them with necessary things at the hospital, but

sometimes the supply gets a bit low and now it is so cold they need

extra underclothing. When he was brought in they put him in a ward by

himself because they thought he would not live through the night, he was

so terribly wounded. His right arm was gone, he had a bullet in his

liver--it is still there--and multiple wounds of head and body. But he

made a wonderful recovery and went away very white and weak, but

cheerful and confident that he will get something to do that will not

require two hands. He has the Medaille Militaire and the Croix de

Guerre, and his Lieutenant, Captain and General have all been to see him

several times--they say he was a wonderful soldier.

[Illustration: Thought to be a hopeless case but everyone must have

their chance, three doctors operated at once amputating leg, an arm and

trepanning. Now as happy as the day is long.]

Three of us went to Dunkirk by motor to get various supplies. We saw

many interesting things on the way, and in Dunkirk saw the destruction

caused by the bombardment. The whole side was out of the church and

several houses were simply crushed like a pack of cards. Some of the

nurses were in Dunkirk when it was bombarded, and they said the noise

was the most terrifying part of it all.

The day we went to Dunkirk we saw a lot of armoured cars. Such curious

looking things they are--some are painted with blotches of yellow and

green and gray and red and brown so they cannot be distinguished from

the landscape. We saw lots of English troops. I looked in vain for

Canadians, but they are not far off.

It has been awfully cold so far and rains most of the time. We have

decided that we shall just keep putting on clothes like the Italians do

in winter and never take anything off.

We get wounded every day, sometimes not more than half a dozen, but as

they are almost all seriously wounded we are kept busy.

There have been so many troops moving on lately, that we thought we

would be left without anything to do. We have orders not to do anything

that is not absolutely necessary as we may have to move also.

I believe the hospital at Divonne has been taken over by the nuns. I

miss the lovely flowers that I had there. I share a small room with two

other nurses and there is not much room to spare. We have boxes put up

on end for tables and wash-stands, and there is only one chair. Some of

the nurses have tents, two in each.

We have had a terrible busy week. All the new ones that came into my

ward lived only thirty-six or forty-eight hours--they were too far gone

to save. Five went away cured, and they really were cases to be proud

of.

I think it was the sweetest thing of little Mary Murray to send me her

birthday money for my soldiers. I have been getting them fruit and

cigarettes for Sunday. That is the thing that overwhelms me at

times--the awful suffering every way one turns. Dorothy Thompson sent me

£5, much to my joy.

Last night I could not sleep for the noise of the guns; they must have

been bombarding some place near at hand, for the whole earth seemed to

shake.

The boys who drive the American ambulance and bring our patients in say

this place is a sort of heaven to them, they are always glad to get

here. Mrs. T---- does everything she can for them. They are a nice lot

of boys and are doing good work.

Some of the poor men who have lost large pieces of their intestines

find the hospital diet a little hard.

MOBILE NO. 1, November 7, 1915.

Letter writing is done, under difficulties here. I have gone to bed in

order to keep warm and have a small lantern with a candle in to light

the paper.

November 15, 1915.

I did not get any further with my letter for the kitty insisted upon

playing with the candle and I was afraid we would have a fire, and since

then I have been so busy I have not had a minute. We have had three

glorious days and have appreciated them, I can tell you. It has been so

cold and wet we have all been water-logged. As for me, I have no word to

express my gratitude for all the friends have sent to me. I am quite

overwhelmed with all the gifts of money and supplies, but I shall make

good use of them and nothing shall be wasted. The wool which Mrs. S----

sent turned up yesterday and I have already given half of it to the

women in one of the villages here to knit into socks. There is a dear

old English colonel who has a soup kitchen near the firing line, and he

is always looking for socks. He does a great deal of good, for he gets

the men when they are carried in from the trenches and gives them hot

drinks and hot water bottles, and warm socks when he has them. So many

of the men have just straw in their boots and are almost frozen. It

makes such a difference if they can get warmed up quickly. Poor souls,

they have had a hard time since the heavy rains began. They are brought

in here just caked with mud from head to foot.

Oh, how glad I was to get the cheque from the "Red Cross" Society and

the cheque from Miss G----. I have written to her and would like to

write long letters to every one who is so kind, but there is not time.

This Ambulance was established by an American lady who then gave it to

the French government. The expenses of running it are paid by them, but

I think Mrs. ---- pays the nurses and also helps out in the way of extra

supplies.

On All Saints Day we went to the little cemetery and decorated the

graves of the soldiers who have died in the hospital. There was a

special mass and service in the churchyard and the General sent us an

invitation. It was pouring rain but I would not have missed it for

anything, and I only wish the mothers, wives and sisters could know how

beautiful it all was and how tenderly cared for are the last

resting-places of their dear ones. It was a picture I shall never

forget. The corner of the little churchyard with the forty new graves so

close together, each marked with a small wooden cross and heaped high

with flowers--the General standing with a group of officers and soldiers

all with bared heads--the nurses and one or two of the doctors from the

hospital behind them, and then the village people and refugees--hundreds

of them, it seemed to me--and the priest giving his lesson--and all the

time the rain coming down in torrents and nobody paying any attention to

it. There were no dry eyes, and when the General came and shook hands

with us afterwards, he could not speak. He is a splendid man, very

handsome and a patriot to the backbone,--one of the finest types of

Frenchmen.

Do not worry about me for I am very well and so glad to be here in spite

of the cold and discomforts. Mrs. S----'s socks and bandages have just

come.

November 28, 1915.

It is bitterly cold here, and we feel it more because it is so damp. I

can't tell you how thankful I am to be able to get socks and warm things

for the men. We can send things to the first dressing station by the

ambulances, and from there they go to the trenches at once. Mrs. D----'s

socks came yesterday, and I sent them off to Colonel Noble, who has the

soup kitchen at the front. All Mrs. S----'s have been given away. It was

such a good idea to have them white, for they put them on under the

others and it often saves the men from being infected by the dye of the

stockings.

This morning when I got up my room was like a skating pond, for the

moisture had frozen on the floor and the water in the pitcher was solid.

The getting up in the morning is the hardest, but after we get started

we do not mind the cold.

The patients have plenty of blankets and hot water bottles, so they do

not suffer.

Two Zeppelins went over our head yesterday, but fortunately we are too

unimportant to be noticed. I suppose that is one of the reasons they

will not let us say where we are, for there are so many spies everywhere

that can send information.

An English nurse came yesterday; she has had most interesting

experiences. She was in Brussels when it was taken by the Germans and

was obliged to take care of German soldiers and officers for some time.

She said the officers, as a rule, were brutes, but some of the men were

very nice and grateful.

For three days and nights the guns have thundered without ceasing. I

wonder what it all means?

My kitty keeps all the seventeen dogs that loaf around here in order.

Yesterday she chased a big yellow dog, half St. Bernard, down the main

sidewalk of the Ambulance. It was a very funny sight, for she was like a

little round ball of fury and the poor dog was frightened to death.

December 5, 1915.

Last night we had the most awful wind storm. I thought our little hut

would be carried over into the German lines. It rained in torrents and

the roof leaked, and I could not get my bed away from the drips, so I

put up my umbrella and the kitty and I had quite a comfortable night.

Ben Ali, the poor Arab who was so desperately wounded, was up to-day for

the first time.

I have ordered six dozen pair of socks from Paris. My nice old English

Colonel Noble (with the soup kitchen) is always clamoring for them. I

think he saves lots of the men from having frozen feet. Madge S----'s

wool is being made into socks by the women of the village.

December 26, 1915.

Christmas is over, and in spite of the under-current of sadness and the

suffering the men had a very happy day. In my ward all but one were well

enough to enjoy the tree, and they were like a lot of children with

their stockings. Christmas Eve one of the orderlies who was on guard

helped me decorate the ward and trim the tree, then we hung up their

stockings. They had oranges, sweets and cigarettes and some small toys

and puzzles and various things of that kind to amuse them.

I had a package for each one in the morning, and, thanks to my good

friends at home, was able to give them some nice things. I had a pair of

warm socks and gloves for each one, a writing pad and envelopes, pen,

pencil, small comb in a case, tooth brush, tooth powder, piece of soap,

wash cloth and a small alcohol lamp with solidified alcohol--a thing

made especially for the trenches and which delighted them very

much--also a small box of sweets, and to several of the very poor ones I

gave a small purse with five francs in it. One poor boy said he had

never had such a Christmas in his life; he is one of a family of seven,

and says that in times of peace it was all they could do to get enough

to eat.

Christmas day at four o'clock the tree was lighted, and one of the many

priests who act as infirmiers here came round to the different wards and

sang carols. He has a very beautiful voice and was much appreciated by

the soldiers. Mrs. Turner then came in, followed by an orderly with a

huge hamper containing a present for each man. They had a wonderful

dinner, soup, raw oysters, (which came from Dunkirk by motor), plum

pudding, etc. I could only give my men a bite of pudding to taste it,

but they were able to eat the oysters and other things in moderation.

In the other wards, where there were only arms and legs and heads to

consider, they had a royal feast. She also gave a grand dinner to all

the infirmiers and men on the place--had a tree for them and a present

for each one. We also had a good dinner and a present for each. She

certainly went to a great deal of trouble and made many people happy.

The next day we divided the things on the trees and each man made a

package to send home to his children. They were even more delighted to

be able to do this than with their own things.

One poor man in my ward was so ill that I was afraid he would die, so I

moved his bed to the end of the ward and put screens around it so that

he would not be disturbed and that the others would not be disheartened

by seeing him. He was so much better Christmas night that we had great

hopes of saving him, but to-day he died. He was wounded in seven places

and one hip was gone. The General came at four o'clock and decorated

him. He roused up and saluted and seemed so pleased. In the evening the

doctor came to do his dressing and he seemed much better. After the

doctor had gone he turned to me and said, "That Major knows what he is

about, he is a corker."

Ben Ali, my prize Arab, had a wonderful day. He ate too much and had to

stay in bed to-day, but he has been wrapping and unwrapping his presents

and having a fine time. He is just like a child, he is so pleased. He

has taken a great fancy to me and asked me to visit him after the war is

over.

We had midnight mass on Christmas eve for the infirmiers and personnel

of the hospital. One of the empty wards was fitted up as a chapel and a

Franciscan monk from Montreal officiated. He is on duty here in the

lingerie, and is a splendid man. He is delicate, has some serious heart

trouble, so that he need not stay, but he came over to do what he could

for his country and his services are invaluable here. His mother was in

the north of the country taken by the Germans and he has not been able

to get any news of her for more than a year.

We have had orders from head-quarters to close all the shutters as soon

as the lights are lit, so we feel as if we were shut up in packing

cases.

There were a great many aeroplanes flying about to-day, so I suppose

they are expecting an attack of some kind. It is blowing a gale to-night

and I feel as if our little shanty would blow over.

January 1, 1916.

It is hard to believe that we are beginning another year. If only it

will bring a lasting peace! The boxes have not turned up yet, but they

doubtless will one of these days, and we will be all the more glad to

see them because we have used up everything else.

I expected to go on night duty immediately after Christmas, but we had

such sick people in my ward they did not want to make a change just

then.

It is blowing a gale again to-night, and raining in torrents; it seems

as if it would never stop raining. The roof of one of the wards was

loosened the other night the wind was so strong, so the patients had to

be all moved out while it was being mended. Our barracks had to be

propped up also, all one side was loose and the rain came in in sheets.

I frequently go to bed with an umbrella.

January 16, 1916.

We have had orders to evacuate all the men who are able to travel, so we

got rid of a great many--eighteen went on Tuesday, twenty on Friday and

nineteen more are to go next Tuesday.

The roof nearly blew off my ward last night, so my patients had to be

moved into the next ward till it is mended. I am going to take advantage

of it and have a thorough house cleaning.

Le Roux, the boy who has been here so long and who has been so terribly

ill, died on Tuesday. I had great hopes of him up till the last day.

Half an hour after he died the General came to decorate him. I hope they

will send the medals to his people, it seems hard that they should have

been just too late to give them to him. The next day I went to his

funeral--the first soldier's funeral I have seen. I was impressed with

the dignity and simplicity of it. The plain deal coffin was covered with

a black pall, which had a white cross at the head, the French flag

covered the foot and a bunch of purple violets, tied with red, white

and blue ribbon, lay between. It was carried in one of the covered

military carts. At three o'clock the little procession started for the

cemetery. First came the priest in soldier's uniform, carrying a small

wooden cross, on which was written Le Roux's name and the name of his

regiment. One of this kind is always put at the head of each grave. Then

came three soldiers with guns on their shoulders, then the car bearing

the coffin, and on each side three soldiers with arms reversed; directly

behind were two infirmiers and three soldiers with guns on their

shoulders, we two nurses in our uniforms, then two officers and some

more soldiers. As we went down the road to the little church in R---- we

passed long lines of soldiers going somewhere, and everyone saluted. A

few stray people followed us into the church and afterwards to the

graveyard, where we left Le Roux with his comrades who had gone before.

I had not been there since All Saints Day and it was sad to see how many

more graves had been added to the line. The ward seems very empty

without Le Roux, but I am glad that the poor boy is at rest for he has

suffered so long. I am beginning to think that death is the only good

thing that can come to many of us.

[Illustration: Nurses Quarters for Two.]

January 25, 1916.

We have been awfully busy, wounded arriving every night, sometimes nine

and sometimes ten, etc. To-night we have had only six so far, but will

probably have some more before eight a.m., they have all been very bad

cases. There has been a terrific bombardment every night we have been on

duty.

My little tent nearly blew away in the big wind storm, so I had to sleep

in the barracks--or rather try to sleep. I did not succeed very well, so

to-day I moved back to the tent. From my bed in the tent I can see the

troops passing on the road and aeroplanes in the sky. To-day we saw so

many we knew it would mean trouble to-night. The trenches were

bombarded, and some of the poor men who were wounded had to lie in the

mud and cold for over twelve hours before they could be moved,

consequently they arrived here in a pretty bad shape. One of the men had

on a pair of Mrs. D----'s socks. I had sent them to Colonel Noble and he

gave them to the men in the trenches. It has been clear and frosty for

two nights, such a relief after all the rain. The hospital is full of

very sick men. I am glad to be on night duty for a change.

January 30, 1916.

It has been so cold and damp to-day that I could not get warm even in

bed. I like sleeping out in the little tent and as a rule sleep very

well--have a cup of hot tea when they wake us at six o'clock. I wear

two pair of socks, beside the rooms are not so frightfully damp since we

got up the little stoves; they get dried out once a day, which is a

great advantage.

I am sending you some snap shots of my little kitty. We call her

"Antoinette" after the aeroplane, for she makes a noise like the

aeroplane when she sings.

When I have a chance I shall go back to Divonne for a rest--it is too

far to go home--but there does not seem any chance of it at present. The

English nurses who have been here six months will have to go first, and

we are more than busy. There are two new nurses coming next

week--Canadians, I think. It is very difficult to get nurses up here,

there is so much red tape to go through.

You must not worry about me, for I am really very well. The cold and

simple life is very healthy, even if it is not always comfortable. I

seem to be as strong as an ox and the more I have to do the better I

feel.

It is joyful to hear that I am to have some more money. St. John people

certainly have been good. A box came to-day from Trinity, it had been

opened. There is the ambulance, I must run.

February 6, 1916.

We are so busy here that we scarcely know where to turn. It is just a

procession of wounded coming and going all the time, for we have to send

them off as quickly as possible in order to make room for the new

arrivals. Thirty-eight went off last Tuesday and fifteen on Friday, but

the beds are filled up again. The last ones we have been getting are so

badly wounded that I wonder who can be moved on Tuesday. We have had

wild wind and rain for the last week, but to-day is cold and clear and

for the first time in weeks it is quiet--the cannonading has been

incessant.

Two English aviators were brought in yesterday whose machine fell quite

near here; fortunately they are not very badly hurt.

The box from the high school girls came to-day, and it was like having

Christmas all over again,--such a nice lot of things there were. I shall

have a fine time distributing them.

Here comes the ambulance. One poor man died in the receiving ward and

the other two went to the operating room at once. They both have

symptoms of gas gangrene, and I am afraid one will lose an arm and the

other a leg.

In spite of the cold and wet we keep extraordinarily well.

Four new nurses have come, much to our relief, for the work was getting

rather beyond us. Two of them are Canadians from Toronto. They know ever

so many people I know. They sailed from St. John at Christmas time and

saw so many St. John friends of mine--they said everyone was so good to

them.

We do not get a minute during the night and some days have been up to

lunch time.

February 22, 1916.

There have been two big attacks and we have had our hands full. Since

Sunday the cannonading has gone on without ceasing. It seems to be all

round us. At night we can see the flashes of the guns quite distinctly,

in fact the sky is lit up most of the time. It is like the reflection of

a great fire--it would be very beautiful if one could get away from the

horror of what it all means.

The aeroplanes were almost as thick as the motors--one came down in a

field near the hospital yesterday--the wings were riddled with bullets,

but fortunately the aviator was not hurt. We often see taubes, and

Zeppelins have gone over us several times, though I could not recognize

them, but the noise was unmistakeable. The wounded are nearly all

brought in at night so we have our hearts and hands full. The other

night twenty-three came in at once so we had to call up the day people

to help us; seventeen were operated upon and all are getting well but

one.

From the twenty-third July, 1915, until the first January, 1916, seven

hundred and fifty patients have been cared for here and sixty-six have

died. I have had over one hundred wounded come in at night this last

month, and as they all come directly from the trenches you can imagine

what it means.

Such a fine box came from Mrs. S---- and F---- containing bandages,

socks, etc., all most welcome.

The ground is white with snow to-day but it will not stay long.

It is very difficult to get nurses here as a command of the French

language is an essential.

The guns are still at it, so there will be much to do to-night.

March 6, 1916.

We have had snow several times this week and it is snowing again to-day.

It is very pretty for a little while but soon melts, and the mud is

worse than ever.

I feel that I can never be grateful enough to the people who have

enabled me to do so much for these poor men. I am going to order some

more pillows, they are things that we need very much. All the lung cases

have to sit up in bed and need a great many pillows to make them

comfortable. Strange to say we have not lost a lung case and we have had

some pretty bad ones. There is one in now who was shot through the lung,

and yesterday they took out a long sibber bullet from under his rib; he

will be able to go home next week. When he came in he was in very bad

condition and he could not speak for a week. The treatment is to sit

them up in bed and give them morphine every day to keep them perfectly

quiet, the hemorrhage gradually stops and they get well very quickly. We

have had a number of deaths from that awful gas gangrene; there is not

much hope when that attacks them.

[Illustration: AMBULANCE VOLANT, in Winter.]

The bombardments have been so terrible lately that those who are

wounded in the morning cannot be taken out of the trenches until night,

and then they are in a sad condition.

One day last week, just as I was getting ready to go to bed, some people

came out from the village to ask if we could help a poor girl who had

been burned. Mrs. Turner and I went at once with all sorts of dressings

and found her in a terrible state--her whole body burned--so of course

there was no hope. She only lived three days. I went in the mornings to

do her dressing and another nurse in the afternoon. She was burned by

lighting a fire with oil.

Things are too heavy now for me to get my holiday.

March 12, 1916.

Only ten admissions. All the efforts are being directed against Verdun.

The defence has been magnificent, and if only the ammunition holds out

there will be no danger of the Germans getting through; but what a

terrible waste of good material on both sides.

Mrs. Turner has been obliged to go to Paris and has left me in charge of

the hospital. I hope nothing terrible will happen while she is away.

The snow is all gone and we are having rain again.

My kitty is getting very bad and spends all her nights out. She has

grown to be just a common ordinary cat now, but she caught a rat the

other day, so has become useful instead of ornamental.

March 20, 1916.

I am left in charge of the Ambulance for a time and am a bit nervous,

having French, English, American, Canadian and Australian nurses under

me.

We had quite an exciting time yesterday watching a German being chased

by four French machines. They all disappeared in the clouds so we do not

know what happened. To-day I counted eleven aeroplanes in the air at

once as well as three observation balloons. One aeroplane came so close

over the barracks that we could wave to the pilot.

We had a lot of patients out of doors to-day, some on stretchers, others

on chairs, and others had their beds carried out--they enjoyed it so

much. We take advantage of all the good weather.

It is pouring again to-night and the guns are booming in an ominous

manner.

One day last week I went to Poperinghe with Mrs. C----. We heard there

was some Canadian troops there and I was hoping to find some friends,

but the Canadians had been moved; however, we talked with some Tommies,

gave them cigarettes and chocolate and had a very interesting time.

March 29, 1916.

Just a week ago a French general was brought in wounded in the leg while

he was inspecting the Belgian trenches. We were rather overwhelmed at

first, but I arranged a corner of one of the wards and he spent one day

and night there while we fixed up an empty ward for him. The next day

his wife arrived and she is camping quite contentedly in another corner

of the ward. She, poor woman, has suffered much from the war but is very

brave. Her eldest son was killed, her second son is ill at Amiens, and

this is the second time the general has been wounded. The first time he

was in a hospital for three months. Her nephew, who is like a second

son, has also been killed, and his wife, a young woman of twenty-two,

taken prisoner by the Germans, and they have had no news of her since

September, 1914. The general's home was in the Aisne district and is, of

course, in the hands of the Germans. There is nothing left of the house

but the four walls; everything has been packed off to Germany, all the

wood work and metal has been taken for the trenches. The day the general

was brought in, the King of the Belgians came to decorate him, and we

were all so disappointed because we did not know about it and only one

or two of us saw him. He came in a motor, accompanied only by one

officer, and we did not know anything about it until he had gone.

We had another awful storm last night--wind and rain. Windows blew off

and doors blew in, and one poor little night nurse was blown off the

sidewalk and nearly lost in the mud.

One day last week I was surprised by a visit from two Canadian boys.

They were doing some engineering work in this section and when they

heard there were Canadians here they came over to see us. One was from

Toronto, the other from Fort William. I gave them one of the Christmas

cakes and some cigarettes. They went away very happy. I was hoping to

get news of some of our boys, but they did not know any of them

personally but expected to see some of the men from the Twenty-sixth in

a few days. I told them to tell any who could to come and see us. I have

been hoping ever since their visit to see B---- or S---- or D---- walk

in some day. It is awful to know that they are so near and not be able

to see them.

April 8, 1916.

A cheque came to-day from the De Monts Chapter, I. O. D. E., which gave

me great joy. It touches me to tears to think of the way the St. John

people have helped me. I wish they could have a look in here and see how

much more I have been able to do on account of the help they have sent

me.

There is a soldier who helps here by the name of Baquet; his wife has

just taken three orphan children, the oldest six years old, to look

after, in addition to her own four, her mother and her mother-in-law.

There are no men left to do the work on the farm, and poor Baquet did

not know how they could get along. I gave him one hundred francs and

told him it was from my friends in Canada. He did not want to take it at

first, saying it was sent for the wounded, but I explained to him that

it was sent to me to help the soldiers and the soldiers' families. He

said it would mean so much to his wife, she works from four in the

morning till dark. They are the sort of people who deserve help, and it

is such a joy to be able to lighten their burdens a little.

We have only about eighty patients at present, but they keep us busy.

The two men who came in last have been so terribly wounded. We have had

a number of cases of gas gangrene. They are trying to cure them with a

new sort of serum. Two of the men really seem to be getting better. Four

cases were brought in yesterday. One poor man died at noon, and I was

glad he did not live any longer; another they had to operate on in the

afternoon and take his leg off. He was in very bad shape last night but

this morning he surprised every one by asking for pen and paper to write

to his mother, and says he feels fine.

Our wounded general left to-day. He could not say enough nice things

about the hospital. He said he was so glad he had been brought here, not

only on his own account, but he was so glad to see how wonderfully his

men were taken care of.

The guns have been going incessantly for the past two days, and we hear

that the English have taken four trenches. I have also heard that some

Canadians have come over lately and our B---- may be only four or five

miles from me. I asked the general if it would be possible for me to

find out; he said he would inquire and if B---- is anywhere in reach he

would get me a pass to go and see him. I feel as if I would start out

and walk to try and find him; but alas! one cannot get by the sentries

without proper papers.

I hope my fur lined cape has not gone to the bottom. I think I shall

still need it in June, for after two wonderful sunshiny days we are

again freezing. Sunday and Monday were like days in June and we moved

the beds of the patients out in the grass and others were on

stretchers. We had the phonograph going, served lemonade, biscuits,

sweets and cigarettes. They had a wonderful time and all slept like tops

the next night.

I think I shall have to find a new job when the war is over, for I don't

think I shall ever do any more nursing.

I am trying to find a lot of straw hats like "cows' breakfasts" and

cheap parasols to protect their heads when they are taking sun baths.

The dressings are taken down and one thickness of gauze only left over

the wound, and they are left in the sun from twenty minutes to two hours

according to what they can stand.

April 11, 1916.

Yesterday we had quite an interesting time with air crafts. The machine

came down so close, that we could see the pilot and his assistant who

waved to us that they were going to throw something to us. A package

landed, almost in the pond. It turned out to be a letter tied up in a

handkerchief with some shot as weight. It was from the English boys who

were patients here for a while; they told us they would pay us a visit

some day. We could see the machine gun in front of the aeroplane quite

distinctly. In the afternoon there was another excitement--a German

machine chased by several French. It looked from below as if they had

got him, but they all disappeared in the clouds and we did not know the

result of the fight.

At nine o'clock there was a terrific explosion as if a bomb had dropped

just outside the gate. We all rushed out and could hear the aeroplane

distinctly, but could not see it; no damage was done near us. We have

just heard that the bomb landed just outside the village doing no

damage.

Thanks for the toilet articles, they are a wise selection. What we

before considered necessities we now know are luxuries.

We have just got off a motor full of convalescents going home on

permission. I hope they will get a month, some of them have been in the

trenches twenty months.

May 3, 1916.

I got a lot of linen hats and Chinese umbrellas to keep the sun off the

patients when they are out of doors.

The two Canadian nurses are a joy to work with, for they have had

splendid training and are the kind that will go till they drop.

We have a wounded German prisoner who was brought in three days ago. The

poor boy had to lose his right arm, and was at first terrified of every

one. He expected to be ill-treated, but now that he sees he gets the

same treatment as all the other patients he is happy and contented and

very glad to be with us. I thought if I ever saw a German in these

regions I would be capable of killing him myself, but one cannot

remember their nationality when they are wounded and suffering.

[Illustration: Showing linen caps and chinese umbrellas purchased for

patients from contributions.]

[Illustration: Queen of the Belgians leaving the ambulance.]

I am sending you a photo of the Queen of the Belgians, who visited us

and was very nice; she spoke so highly of the Canadians and of the

splendid work they had done.

PARIS, May 24, 1916.

I left Dunkirk Thursday morning in time to escape the bombs, and stopped

off at Etaples to look up some of our friends at the Canadian hospital.

Dr. MacL---- had left for London but I saw M---- D----, and M---- P----.

Etaples is a real city of hospitals now. I saw the St. John Ambulance

and the Canadian unit; they are both most interesting, so well

organized.

Captain T---- took me to the station in a motor, for which I was glad,

as it is two miles, and the walk over in the sun was as much as I

wanted. Arrived at Paris at five the next morning rather weary, had a

hot bath, the first in a real tub for eight months, and when I went to

bed that night I slept for nearly twenty-four hours.

DIVONNE-LES-BAINS, May 30, 1916.

I did not go to the Grand Hotel for reasons of economy. This is a clean

little place and I am quite comfortable but I miss the bathroom and the

balcony.

There are no patients at the Ambulance here for the moment. All the

fighting is in the north and at Verdun. Poor Verdun--it is terrible

there, one hundred days and still no let up--I think there will be no

men left in France before long and then the English will have to take

their turn. When will it all end? Divonne is as beautiful as ever, and

so quiet and peaceful one would not realize that there was a war if it

were not for the fathers and sons who will never come back, and the

women who are struggling to make both ends meet.

I have had news of several of my old patients who were here. Daillet,

who was paralyzed, is at Vichy and can walk two miles with crutches, two

others have been killed and many of the others back in the trenches.