AMERICAN FRANCS-TIREURS.--PONTOON BRIDGE OVER THE LOIRE.--FRENCH
CARELESSNESS.--SOLITARY DEATHS OF THE WOUNDED.
About this time a small regiment of American volunteers, in Franc-Tireur
uniform, passed through Orleans on their way to the front. Their Colonel
called on us, and offered a place as assistant surgeon to any who might
be willing to join. Had I been at liberty, the spirit of adventure would
assuredly have prompted me to accept his offer, and he pressed me hard
to do so; but the required permission was wanting. These men, I
afterwards heard, joined General Bourbaki, and having been driven over
the Swiss frontier, were detained as prisoners of war.
About the 20th November Dr. Pratt returned, bringing with him two
gentlemen, Mr. Olive and Mr. Wombwell, who were to take charge of the
commissariat and store department. They had been in London, and brought
a large supply of stores. They, like Hayden and myself, had been taken
by Francs-Tireurs, not once, however, but twice, and only the French
passport which Dr. Pratt held ever since his departure from Paris,
prevented them from being shot out of hand as Prussian spies.
A work of great interest was being carried on by the garrison within
sight of our windows on the Quai. It was the construction of a pontoon
bridge across the Loire, for the more speedy passage of troops. The
Germans, some weeks previously, at the time we arrived in Orleans, had
attempted a similar bridge; but before they had half finished it, a
flood came one night and swept the whole thing away, to the intense
amusement and delight of the Orleaners. The pontoon bridge which the
French now constructed, showed not only the perfection to which military
engineering had been brought, but also the acquaintance which the
natives possessed with the sudden and violent floods which were wont
unexpectedly to swell the current of that great river, causing its
waters to rise in a few hours so as to overflow its banks and flood the
adjoining country. The bridge was composed, not of pontoon boats, but of
large barges, which had been used on the river for the freight of
merchandise. These were connected with one another by pine trees, which
themselves had been lashed together by spars. A rough idea of the size
of the bridge will be given if I state that it took thirty-three such
barges to make its length, and that they were about ten feet apart.
Active preparations were now being made on all sides for a determined
stand. Every one said that ere many days were over, the enemy would be
once more upon them, but they reckoned that an engagement, though sure
to be bloody and desperate, would end in a decisive victory for the
French army. Such was the gossip of the town, and of officers in the
cafés whom I fell in with.
Another event, of even greater interest than the construction of the
bridge, was the entrance, one frosty morning, of a body of marine
infantry, bearing with them four gunboats placed on long timber waggons,
each drawn by eight horses. It is not easy to describe how very novel
and curious an appearance this flotilla on dry land presented as it
passed slowly down the Rue Royale, each gunboat fully rigged, and
carrying on board its bright brass cannons which glistened in the sun.
As I happened to have half an hour to spare, I followed the marines,
curious to see what would become of this extraordinary naval procession.
The limber waggons with their cross beams, on which the keels of the
boats rested, took up nearly the entire breadth of the street. When they
arrived on the Quai du Châtelet, I found myself one of a large crowd
that had been drawn there by the same motive, and we wondered much how
these unwieldy things could be launched. It was surprising with what
facility this was done by comparatively few hands; but, presently, when
our interest in the performance had yielded to admiration, we saw the
last of the gunboats turn upside down as soon as it was in the water,
flinging cannon, men, and everything on board into the Loire. The danger
seemed not so great as it might have been, and we were much amused.
There followed universal scramble of excited Frenchmen to haul their
comrades out of the stream; but their whole idea of assisting the
struggling men was to gesticulate frantically at them, and at their
neighbours on shore, and to maul one another in a fashion as ludicrous
as it was unseasonable. Some of the marines, however, let down a boat
and brought their comrades on shore. But it was not until next day that
they were able to right the gunboat, and they never fished up the cannon
and other materials which had sunk with it.
I often watched these diminutive men-of-war as they cruised about at a
great speed, for they were driven by steam, with their guns as bright as
gold, and the tricolour flying from their sterns.
On the banks of the river opposite our quarters, there were several
cannon placed on the footpath with a sentry on each. And speaking of
sentries, I am reminded how great was the difference between the French
and the German method of occupying a town in time of war. When the
Germans were at Orleans, they set a sentry at every street corner,
several at either end of the bridges, one in every public square, and
one at the door of every person at all distinguished. A stranger would
be challenged at every couple of hundred yards, nor could he pass along
anywhere unobserved. Not so was it with the French. During their stay we
seldom came across a sentry, and, when we did, he took no more notice of
those who passed by, or of what went on in his neighbourhood, than if he
had been at a review.
Again, during the French occupation, we missed the noise and rattle of
the many hours of morning drill in which our Germans troops were daily
practised, no matter how long had been their previous marches, or how
severe the hardships they had undergone. During the weeks which the
French spent in Orleans I never once saw their soldiers at drill. When
they came into the town they simply threw their arms into a corner in
their quarters, and left them there until they were again on the move.
That such was the case I have personal reason to know; for in a house
where I was attending a wounded man, I saw such a collection of arms,
and they remained untouched till the regiment to which their owners
belonged took its departure.
But this was only in keeping with all that I had seen of the discipline
and internal _régime_ of their armies. A significant token of their
ignorance with regard to the country in which they were fighting was
that, immediately on entering Orleans, they requisitioned, by public
placards, all maps of the surrounding districts which might be in the
hands of the inhabitants, ordering them to be delivered up forthwith to
the military commandant. Thus did their organisation prove itself in
every detail either deficient or slovenly. And on all sides there was
accumulating evidence of something radically unsound in the army as in
the people.
About November 22, the Inspector-General of French Ambulances called to
see us formally at the railway station with Messieurs Crémieux and
Bezoin, two active members of the Provisional Government. With all three
we shook hands solemnly, and received their thanks for the assistance we
had rendered to the French wounded. They signified to our chief that
France would be in a position, by-and-by, to make some public
recognition of our services; and after the exchange of other compliments
bade us a cordial farewell.
In the midst of the excitement and bustle, consequent on the fact that
Orleans was now the headquarters of the Army of the Loire, we continued
our daily labour at the bedsides of the wounded, caring little about
what was happening outside our own sphere of work. Many of our wounded
were scattered through the town; and these, comfortably established in
private houses, we visited every day. As already stated, after leaving
the terminus we took up our quarters at M. d'Allaine's in the old
market-place. Here we set up our Hospital exclusively for German
wounded, as, in the circumstances under which we found ourselves in the
town during the French occupation, and taking into consideration the
nature of our mission there, we considered the care of the wounded whom
the Germans had left to us as our primary duty. For this reason we kept
them together as much as possible, that they might not fall into other
and less attentive hands; and when we had done our duty by them, we
bestowed such time as we could spare upon any French wounded that came
under our charge.
At this time our position in Orleans was extremely critical. All knew
that we had been in the service of the Germans, and that they had looked
upon us as part and parcel of their medical army corps; and we could
hear many a subdued expletive when we passed along the streets. It was,
however, most likely for this reason that no one dared to molest us.
They had learned by a bitter experience how inevitable was the
Prussians' day of retribution, and they knew with what severity the
invaders punished any outrage on their friends.
Now it was that Colonel Reilly, Captain Frazer and Colonel Hozier
arrived in Orleans with the headquarters of General d'Aureilles de
Paladine, as _attachés_ to the Foreign Embassy. They came several times
to mess, and spent their evenings with us,--pleasant jovial men, and as
brave as they were agreeable. Nothing could be more welcome, when one
was fagged and worn out after a long day's work among the wounded, than
to turn in to a comfortable dinner with nearly a score of good-natured
fellows, who vied with one another in making the evening pass pleasantly
for all. Never a wrangle, never a hasty or bickering word was exchanged;
never did an unkind remark or an ungenerous act mar that friendly
harmony which existed among the Ambulance corps then working unitedly
under the banners of England and America.
I often look back with feelings of satisfaction to the cheery circle we
used to form when mess was over, seated round a large wood fire; and I
can still see the grinning face of "Nigger Charlie" as he entered the
room, bearing in his hand a large wash-hand basin of steaming punch with
a dash of brandy and port in it, flavoured with spices and lemon, which
we could pronounce with a good conscience to be all it seemed.
Our work was taxing and incessant, but nothing is too hard if one goes
at it with a will. Yet my advice to anybody who has a soft drop in him,
and who contemplates entering upon a campaign, would be that he had
better stay at home.
One of our party was a good musician, and every evening entertained us
by playing on a piano which we borrowed from a merchant, as the Scotch
would call him, in the town. This was a grand resource after supper when
we all came together. And so much for our leisure hours.
In the daily routine of professional work at this time I have nothing
out of the way to chronicle. There was one case, however, the
particulars of which might be interesting. The patient's name was Karl
Melchers, a young artilleryman, who had been shot in the leg at the end
of October, and whose thigh was subsequently amputated at the railway
station. He had been transferred then to M. d'Allaine's, where, to my
grief, he showed symptoms of approaching pyæmia. Reluctantly, but
forthwith, I determined that he must be put out of the Hospital; and I
took peremptory orders from my chief to that effect.
Now the difficulty was to find a place where I could lodge poor
Melchers. I tried at the neighbouring houses, but all that were not
occupied by invalids were full of the rank and file of the army now
billeted through the town. Not a nook could I discover anywhere. In the
yard, however, there was an empty stable, and into this I had no choice
but to have Melchers conveyed. In order to give the place a less dreary
appearance--it was dismal enough--I procured some straw, and had it laid
on the pavement. He was then brought down on his mattress, and I never
shall forget the poor fellow's face when he caught the first glimpse of
those new quarters which he felt that he should not long occupy.
When he found himself laid on the straw, alone, and separated from his
companions perhaps for ever, the utter desolation of his fate dawned
upon him, and he sobbed audibly. Yet he was a fine brave young fellow,
with piercing black eyes, dark hair and whiskers, and a very high
forehead. We were the best of friends; and I did all in my power, little
enough as it was, to comfort him. I persuaded one of our nursing
sisters, a native of Luxemburg, who belonged to the convent of Notre
Dame de Recouvrance, to sit beside him on the straw, and talk to him for
a while. However, both Soeur Berthe and I had soon to go about our own
business, and leave him to himself. Day after day he complained bitterly
of being where he was, in the damp and cold, but there was no help for
it; his presence in the neighbourhood of any other wounded must have
meant the death of many, if not of all. Once he called the sister and me
to his bedside, and said: "My end is now not far off; I should die happy
had I but one half-hour with my comrades, behind my gun, with a thousand
Frenchmen in front of me".
Another day and this poor fellow, after having bidden us a touching
farewell,--for he knew that we could not help his unhappy
position,--died in a manner and in a place that I should not have liked
his poor old mother away across the Rhine to have seen. Yet melancholy
as were the circumstances attending the death of this dauntless soldier,
still more pitiable was the fate of many others as brave as he, who were
condemned to drag out the last few hours of their existence on some
bleak and lonely hillside, or in the thick brushwood skirting some
silent forest, or in the swampy sedge beside some rivulet. Such
tragedies were not uncommon during that stern winter which was now
setting in, as I can but too surely bear witness.
Always we were expecting to hear of an engagement taking place in our
neighbourhood; but none happened until Thursday, the 24th November, when
we learned from the military in command that hostilities had begun in
the direction of Neuville. During the evening of this day, some of us
were told off for field service, and made preparations to depart. I was
among the number.
It gave me, I must confess, no small pleasure to be chosen to go to the
front. There is a fascination in the excitement of the battlefield; and,
even in its horrors and imminent deadly perils, a seduction, which one
cannot easily resist. A life of campaigning seems to bring out what
moralists would perhaps term a diseased hankering after its
uncertainties and adventures. But in the case of the Ambulance officer
this not altogether human quality is liable to be merged in one more
useful. He is in the field not to give wounds, but to heal them, and to
assuage the suffering that makes war so detestable in one aspect, so
heroic in another.