too busy to take any notice of it.
One of these officers was hit by a German shell on Sunday morning early,
soon after our bombardment began. He crawled about till he was hit again
twice by other shells, and then lay there all that day and all that
night, with one drink from another wounded's water-bottle; every one
else was either dead or wounded round him. Next morning his servant
found him and got stretcher-bearers, and he got here.
I don't know how they live through that.
_Wednesday, May 12th_, 6.30 P.M.--Slept very well. I hear from Gabrielle
that they have had a hard day at the O.D.S.; no new cases, but all the
bad ones very ill.
My little room is crammed with enormous lilac, white and purple, from
our wee garden, which I am going to take to our graves to-morrow in jam
tins.
_Thursday, May 13th_, 11 A.M.--Can't face the graves to-day; have had an
awful night; three died during the night. I found the boy who brought
his officer in from between the German line and ours, on Sunday night,
crying this morning over the still figure under a brown blanket on a
stretcher.
Of the other two, brought straight in from the other dressing station,
one only lived long enough to be put to bed, and the other died on his
stretcher in the hall.
The O.C. said last night, "Now this War has come we've got to tackle it
with our gloves off," but it takes some tackling. It seems so much
nearer, and more murderous somehow in this Field Ambulance atmosphere
even than it did on the train with all the successive hundreds.
We can see Notre Dame de Lorette from here; the Chapel and Fort stand
high up in that flat maze of slag-heaps, mine-heads, and sugar-factories
just behind the line on the right.
9 P.M., _O.D.S._--Everything very quiet here.
A gunner just admitted says there will probably be another big
bombardment to-morrow morning, and after that another attack, and after
that I suppose some more for us.
Another says that the charge of the Black Watch on Sunday was a
marvellous thing. They went into it playing the pipes! The Major who led
it handed somebody his stick, as he "probably shouldn't want it again."
It is very wet to-night, but they go up to the trenches singing Ragtime,
some song about "We are always--respected--wherever we go." And another
about "Sing a song--a song with me. Come along--along with me."
11 P.M.--Just heard a shell burst, first the whistling scream, and then
the bang--wonder where? There was another about an hour ago, but I
didn't hear the whistle of that--only the bang. I shouldn't have known
what the whistle was if I hadn't heard it at Braisne. It goes in a
curve. All the men on the top floor have been sent down to sleep in the
cellar; another shell has busted.
12.15.--Just had another, right overhead; all the patients are asleep,
luckily.
1.30 P.M.--There was one more, near enough to make you jump, and a few
more too far off to hear the whistling. A sleepy major has just waked up
and said, "Did you hear the shells? Blackguards, aren't they?"
The sky on the battle line to-night is the weirdest sight; our guns are
very busy, and they are making yellow flashes like huge sheets of summer
lightning. Then the star-shells rise, burst, and light up a large area,
while a big searchlight plays slowly on the clouds. It is all very
beautiful when you don't think what it means.
Two more--the last very loud and close. It is somehow much more alarming
than Braisne, perhaps because it is among buildings, and because one
knows so much more what they mean.
Another--the other side of the building.
An ambulance has been called out, so some one must have been hit; I've
lost count of how many they've dropped, but they could hardly fail to do
some damage.
5 A.M.--Daylight--soaking wet, and no more shells since 2 A.M. We have
admitted seven officers to-night; the last--just in--says there have
been five people wounded in the town by this peppering--one killed. I
don't know if civilians or soldiers.
That bombardment on Sunday morning was the biggest any one has ever
heard,--more guns on smaller space, and more shells per minute.
Nine officers have "died of wounds" here since Sunday, and the tenth
will not live to see daylight. There is an attack on to-night. This has
been a ghastly week, and now it is beginning again.
The other two Sisters had quite a nasty time last night lying in bed,
waiting for the shells to burst in their rooms. They do sound exactly as
if they are coming your way and nowhere else!
I rather think they are dropping some in again to-night, but they are
not close enough to hear the whistle, only the bangs.
There is an officer in to-night with a wound in the hand and shoulder
from a shell which killed eleven of his men, and another who went to
see four of his platoon in a house at the exact moment when a percussion
shell went on the same errand; the whole house sat down, and the five
were wounded--none killed.
_Saturday, May 15th_, 10 P.M.--Tension up again like last Saturday.
Another TAG is happening to-morrow. Every one except three sick
downstairs has been evacuated, and they have made accommodation for 1000
at the French Hospital, which is the 4th F.A. main dressing station, and
headquarters. All officers, whether seriously or slightly wounded, are
to be taken there to be dressed by the M.O.'s in the specially-arranged
dressing-rooms, and then sent on to us to be put to bed and coped with.
Now we have got some French batteries of 75's in our lines to pound the
earthworks which protect the enemy's buried machine-guns, which are the
most murderous and deadly of all their clever arrangements, and to stop
up the holes through which they are fired. We have also got more
Divisions in it along the same front, and our heavy guns and all our
batteries in better positions.
Some more regiments have been called up in a hurry, and empty
ammunition-carts are galloping back already.
This morning I took some white lilac to the graves of our 12 officers
who "died of wounds." Their names and regiments were on their crosses,
and "Died of wounds.--F.A.," and R.I.P. It was better to see them like
that Pro Patria than in those few awful days here.
10.30.--Just admitted a gunner suffering from shock alone--no
wound--completely knocked out; he can't tell you his name, or stand, or
even sit up, but just shivers and shudders. Now he is warm in bed, he
can say "Thank you." I wonder what exactly did it.
The arrangements the -- F.A. happen to have the use of at the French
Hospital, with its up-to-date modern operating theatre for tackling the
wounds in a strictly aseptic and scientific way within a few hours of
the men being hit, are a tremendous help.
Certainly the ones who pass through No.-- get a better chance of early
recovery without long complications than most of those we got on the
train. And while they are awaiting evacuation to the Clearing Hospitals
they have every chance, both here and at the French Hospital, where all
the trained orderlies except two are on duty, and practically all the
M.O.'s. But, of course, there are a great many of the seriously wounded
that no amount of aseptic and skilled surgery or nursing can save.
_Sunday_, 11.30 A.M. _May 16th._--They began coming in at 3.30, and by 8
A.M. the place was full to bursting. We managed to get all the stretcher
cases to bed, and as many of the others as we had beds for, without
sending for the other two Sisters, who came on at 8.15, and are now
coping. Most of them were very cheery, because things seem to be going
well. Two lines of trenches taken, all the wire cut, and some of the
earthworks down; but it is always an expensive business even when
successful--only then nobody minds the expense. There are hundreds more
to come in, and the seriously wounded generally get brought in last,
because they can't get up and run, but have to hide in trenches and
shell holes. One man, wounded on Sunday and found on Friday night, had
kept himself alive on dead men's emergency rations. They were all
sopping wet with blood or mud or both.
The ---- lost heavily. I heard one officer say, "They drove us back five
times."
After breakfast I went to the Cathedral, and then boldly bearded the big
dressing station at the French Hospital, where all the dressings are
done and the men evacuated, armed with a huge linen bag of cigarettes,
chocolate, and writing-cases which came last night. I met the C.O., who
said I could have a look round, and then rowed me for not being in bed,
and said we should be busy to-night and for some time. It was very
interesting, and if you brought your reason to bear on it, not too
horrible.
Every corridor, waiting-room, ward, and passage was filled with them,
the stretchers waiting their turn on the floors, and the walking cases
(which on the A.T. we used to call the sitting-ups) in groups and
queues. No one was fussing, but all were working at full pitch; and very
few of the men were groaning, but nearly all were gruesomely covered
with blood. And they look pretty awful on the bare gory stretchers, with
no pillows or blankets, just as they are picked up on the field. Many
are asleep from exhaustion.
What cheered me was one ward full of last Sunday's bad cases, all in
bed, and very cheery and doing well. They loved the writing-cases, &c.,
and said it was like Xmas, and they wouldn't want to leave 'ere now.
A great many of this morning's had already been evacuated, and they were
still pouring in. One has to remember that a great many get quite well,
though many have a ghastly time in store for them in hospital.
The barge is in the canal again taking in the non-jolters.
Some stalwart young Tommies at No. 4 were talking about the prisoners.
They told me there weren't many taken, because they found one in a
Jock's uniform.
I've drawn my curtain so that I can't see those hateful motor ambulances
coming in slowly full, and going back empty fast, and must go to sleep.
I simply loathe the sight of those M.A.'s, admirable inventions though
they are. Had a look into a lovely lorry full of 100-lb. shells in the
square.
7 P.M.--Only one officer has died at the O.D.S. to-day, but there are
two or three who will die. They have evacuated, and filled up three
times already.
The news from the "scene of operations" is still good, so they are all
still cheerful. The difference to the wounded that makes is
extraordinary. That is why last Sunday's show was such a black blight to
them and to us.
_Monday, May 17th_, 10 A.M.--Another night of horrors; one more died,
and two young boys came in who will die; one is a Gordon Highlander of
18, who says "that's glorious" when you put him to bed.
It was a long whirl of stretchers, and pitiful heaps on them. The
sergeant stayed up helping till 3, and a boy from the kitchen stayed up
all night on his own, helping.
In the middle of the worst rush the sergeant said to me, "You know
they're shelling the town again?" and at that minute swoop bang came a
big one; and we looked at each other over the stretcher with the same
picture in our mind's eyes of shells dropping in amongst the wounded,
who are all over the town. I hadn't heard them--too busy--but they
didn't go on long.
The Boches have been heavily shelling our trenches all day.
One boy said suddenly, when I was attending to his leg, "Aren't you very
foolish to be staying up here?" "Oh, sorry," he said; "I was dreaming
you were in the front line of trenches bandaging people up!"
Our big guns have been making the building shake all night. The Germans
are trying to get their trenches back by counter-attacking.
_Tuesday, May 18th, is it?_ 1 A.M., _in bed._--It has been about the
worst night of all the worst nights. I found the wards packed with bad
cases, the boy of 18 dead, and the other boy died half an hour after I
came on. Two more died during the night, two lots were evacuated, and
had to be dug out of their fixings-up in bed and settled on stretchers,
and all night they brought fresh ones in, drenched and soaked with
clayey mud in spadefuls, and clammy with cold.
_Wednesday, May 19th, 12 noon._--Mr ---- has been working at No.-- at
full pitch for twenty-four hours on end, and had just got into bed when
they sent for him there again. They are all nearly dead, and so are the
orderlies at both places; but they never dream of grousing or shirking,
as they know there's not another man to be had.
Two more officers died last night, and three more were dying.
The Padre came and had a Celebration in my ward. Three R.A.M.C. officers
are in badly wounded. They are extraordinarily good.
_Friday, 21st May_, 3 A.M.--Last night the rush began to abate; no one
died, and only one came in--a general smash-up; he died to-night, and a
very dear boy died to-day. I've lost count now of how many have died,--I
think about twenty-four.
The Guards' Brigade here went by to-night from the trenches to rest,
singing "Here we are again," and the song about "The girls declare I am
a funny man!"
11 A.M.--The little Canadian Sister has just been recalled, I'm sorry
to say, but probably we shall get another one. Five Canadian officers
came in last night. The guns are making the dickens of a noise, very
loud and sudden. Yesterday they shelled the town again, and two more
_soldats anglais_ were wounded.
_Saturday, May 22nd_, 6.30 A.M.--Things have been happening at a great
pace since the above, and we are now in our camp-beds in an empty
attic at the top of an old château about three miles back, which is
No.-- C.H., at ----.
Just as I was thinking of getting up yesterday evening they began
putting shells over into the town, and soon they were raining in three
at a time. My little room here is a sort of lean-to over the kitchen
with no room above it; so I cleared out to dress in one of the others,
and didn't stop to wash. Gabrielle came running up to fetch me
downstairs. At the hospital, which was only about 200 yards down the
road, the wounded officers were thinking it was about time Capt.
---- moved his Field Ambulance. One boy by the window had got some
_débris_ in his eye from the nearest shell, which burst in my
blackbird's garden, or rather on the doorstep opposite. (That was the
one that got me out of bed rather rapidly.) The orders soon came to
evacuate all the patients. At the French Hospital, about six minutes
away, three wounded had been hit in a M.A. coming in, and the Officers'
Mess had one (none of them were in), and they were dropping all round
it. Then the order came from the D.D.M.S. to the A.D.M.S. to evacuate
the whole of the --th, --th, and --th Field Ambulances, and within about
two hours this was done.
Everybody got the patients ready, fixed up their dressings and splints,
gave them all morphia, and got them on to their stretchers.
The evacuation was jolly well done; their servants appeared by magic,
each with every spot of kit and belongings his officer came in with
(they are in _all_ cases checked by the Sergeant on admission, no matter
what the rush is), and the place was empty in an hour. The din of our
guns, which were bombarding heavily, and the German guns, which are
bombarding us at a great pace, and the whistle and bang of the shells
that came over while this was going on, was a din to remember.
Then we went back to our billet to hurl our belongings into our baggage,
and came away with the A.D.M.S. and his Staff-Major in their two
touring-cars. The Division is back resting somewhere near here. We got
to bed about 2 A.M. after tea and bread and butter downstairs, but slept
very little owing to the noise of the guns, which shake and rattle the
windows every minute.
We don't know what happens next.
At about four this morning I heard a nightingale trilling in the garden.
2 P.M.--In the Château garden. It is a glorious spot, with kitchen
garden, park, moat bridge, and a huge wilderness up-and-down plantation
round it, full of lilac, copper beeches, and flowering trees I've never
seen before, and birds and butterflies and buttercups. You look across
and see the red-brick Château surrounded by thick lines of tents, and
hear the everlasting incessant thudding and banging of the guns, and
realise that it is not a French country house but a Casualty Clearing
Hospital, with empty--once polished--floors filled with stretchers,
where the worst cases still are, and some left empty for the incoming
convoys. Over two thousand have passed through since Sunday week. The
contrast between the shady garden where I'm lazing now on rugs and
cushions, with innumerable birds, including a nightingale, singing and
nesting, and the nerve-racking sound of the guns and the look of the
place inside, is overwhelming. It is in three Divisions--the house for
the worst cases--and there are tent Sections and the straw-sheds and two
schools in the village. We had our lunch at a sort of inn in the
village. I've never hated the sound of the guns so much; they are almost
unbearable.
It is a good thing for us to have this sudden rest. I don't know for how
long or what happens next.
The General of the Division had a narrow escape after we left last
night. The roof of his house was blown off, just at the time he would
have been there, only he was a little late, but an officer was killed;
six shells came into the garden, and the seventh burst at his feet and
killed him as he was standing at the door. I'm glad they got the wounded
away in time. Aeroplanes are buzzing overhead. The Aerodrome is here,
French monoplanes chiefly as far as one can see.
10 P.M., _in bed_.--We have now been temporarily attached to the Staff
here.
Miss ---- has given me charge of the Tent Section, which can take eighty
lying down.
_Whitsunday, 1915._--In bed--in my tent, not a bell, but an Indian tent
big enough for two comfortably. I share with S----. We have nothing but
the camp furniture we took out, but will acquire a few Red Cross boxes
as cupboards to-morrow. It is a peerless night with a young moon and a
soft wind, frogs croaking, guns banging, and a nightingale trilling.
It has been a funny day, dazzling sun, very few patients.
_Whit-Monday._--Very few in to-day again. I have only six, and am making
the most of the chance of a rest in the garden; one doesn't realise till
after a rush how useful a rest can be. There has been a fearful
bombardment going on all last night and yesterday and to-day; it is a
continual roar, and in the night is maddening to listen to; you can't
forget the war. Mosquitoes, nightingales, frogs, and two horses also
helped to make the night interesting.
8.30 P.M.--Waiting for supper. Wounded have been coming in, and we've
had a busy afternoon and evening.
_Wednesday, May 26th._--No time to write yesterday; had a typical
Clearing Hospital Field Day. The left-out-in-the-field wounded (mostly
Canadians) had at last been picked up and came pouring in. I had my Tent
Section of eighty beds nearly full, and we coped in a broiling sun till
we sweltered into little spots of grease, finishing up with five
operations in the little operating tent.
The poor exhausted Canadians were extraordinarily brave and
uncomplaining. They are evacuated the same day or the next morning,
such as can be got away to survive the journey, but some of the worst
have to stay.
In the middle of it all at 5 P.M. orders came for me to join No.--
Ambulance Train for duty, but I didn't leave till this morning at nine,
and am now on No.-- A.T. on way down to old Boulogne again.
_Later._--These orders were afterwards cancelled, and I am for duty at a
Base Hospital.
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.