_Poignant Impressions_
I had a wild ride last night in the rain. A German shell landed in a
town only two kilometres from the front and killed four civilians and
wounded one woman. I had to go and get her. For two kilometres the road
runs over a slight rise in the plain, in full view of the Germans. It
is all screened off with brush cut and stuck up along the side toward
the lines, but here and there the brush was blown down by the terrific
wind which came with the storm. We could not use lights, but we did
not need them, for, though it was raining like fury, the Germans were
sending up illuminating bombs which lighted up the country for miles
around. They are the most fascinating yet weird things you have ever
witnessed. This ball of fire rises from the trenches to a height of
one hundred feet, and then floats along slowly through the air for a
quarter of a mile, illuminating everything around. At one time one
came directly for us, and we stopped the car and watched it. At the
roadside stood a huge crucifix, and, as this ball of fire approached,
it silhouetted the cross, and all we could see was the beautiful shadow
of the figure on the cross rising from the earth against the weird glow
of white fire. It seemed like the sacrifice of Calvary and the promise
of success for poor France.
[Illustration: ONE OF OUR CARS IN TROUBLE]
[Illustration: COFFINS IN COURTYARD OF BASE HOSPITAL IN ALSACE--AMONG
THEM RICHARD HALL'S]
We did not dare to use our low speed for fear the _Boches_ would
hear us, so we tore over this road on high, rushing past the bare
spots, afraid of being seen. The illuminating bombs are used for this
purpose only; the one which came toward us went out before it
reached us, for which we were grateful. We got the woman. She had to
have her arm amputated.
_December 27_
We have had very strenuous times, as a big attack has just taken place
and the wounded have come in so fast and so badly cut up they could not
give them the care they would like to, as everything is so crowded. The
Germans lost a lot of trenches, and almost two thousand of them were
taken prisoners. They have been shelling the French lines and towns
constantly; since the 22d, our cars have been more or less under fire.
We moved our quarters about six kilometres nearer the line and bring
the wounded in to the hospital three times a day. The Germans shelled
this place,--why we do not know, for there is nothing military here but
the hospital, and why should people of any intelligence and feeling
wish to shell a hospital?
One of our men was killed on Christmas Day and we are terribly broken
up over it. He was going from this hospital to the _poste_ we go to
daily over a road up the mountain. At four o'clock Christmas morning
one of our boys started up this road, which goes up and up with no
level place on it. He passed the middle of the journey when he thought
he noticed a wagon turned over about forty feet down in the ravine.
He went to a point where he could stop his car, took his lantern, and
walked back. He found one of our Fords so demolished it could not be
distinguished. The top of the car was up in a tree and so were the
extra tires; there was nothing on the ground but a chassis. He saw no
one around, but on going down a little farther, he saw a bundle of
blankets which we always carry for the wounded, and, on walking up to
it, he found one of our fellows, Dick Hall. He was lying on his side
with his arms fixed as if driving and in a sitting position, cold and
rigid. He had been dead a couple of hours. Walter, who found him, went
back up the road for assistance, and, while there, Hall's brother
came along in his car and asked what the matter was and offered his
assistance. Walter told him his brakes were not working and he was
fixing them, so Hall, knowing nothing of his brother, passed on up the
mountain, got his load of wounded, and took them to the hospital.
[Illustration: RICHARD HALL'S CAR AFTER SHELL LANDED UNDER IT]
_In the Hospital_
_January 1, 1916_
This brings the war home to us! This and the suffering and torments of
the wounded make me sick at heart. I have seen them suffer particularly
since this last attack, as I am a _blessé_ myself--and am in a French
hospital. It is only a slight arm wound; the bone is cracked a little,
but not broken. I am here to have the piece of shell drawn out and am
assisting these poor wounded all I can. I was sent to the _poste_ we
have nearest the lines, on the other side of the mountain and hidden
in the woods. The trenches begin at this _poste_. The _poste_ itself is
an _abri_, a bomb-proof dug-out in the ground. The roof and supports
are made of timbers a foot or more thick, over these are placed two
feet of heavy rock and again two feet of earth. When I got there the
Germans began bombarding, and fired shells into these woods and into
this _poste_ for almost five hours. I never want to see another such
bombardment; it was frightful. I saw shells land among horses, smash
big trees in half within ten and twenty yards. I saw three men hit; one
had his face shot away. The _poste_ became so full of wounded we had
to stand near the doorway, which is partly protected by a bomb-proof
door. It was not exactly safe inside, for the shells, if big enough,
when they hit such an _abri_ often loosen the supports, and the roof,
weighing tons, falls in and buries people alive. A man in the same room
with me in the hospital here was in an _abri_ not far from where we
were when it was struck; the roof fell and killed three men who were
with him and he was buried for an hour. A shell struck a tree not eight
feet off from where we were standing and smashed it in half; it fell
and almost killed one of two _brancardiers_ (stretcher-bearers) who
were carrying a dead man past the door. A piece of the _éclat_ hit the
other _brancardier_ in the head and killed him. The man standing beside
me had his hand shot off, and I got hit in the elbow. Three pieces went
through my coat, but only one went into the arm. If I had not been
standing against the door I might have fared worse. I was carried with
two other wounded by one of our fellows up the steep mountain road
to our second _poste_. They were bombarding that road as well as the
_poste_. We could see the sky redden from the flash of the guns below
and we could hear the shells shriek as they came toward us, and the
_éclat_ not too far away. Twice we started the Ford on the way up; it
stalled and took five precious minutes to get it going again. The force
of one explosion knocked the fellow with me over when he walked ahead
to try and make out the road. We stuck in the road twice, not daring
to pass a wagon conveying munitions. We could not make the hill, it
was so steep, and we had to seek men to push us. It was pitch-black
and we could not use our lights. This with two gravely wounded men
on our hands rather took the nerve out of us. We finally got back to
headquarters and found them bombarding there, one shell having struck
not far from the hospital.
_January 20_
I am still in the hospital, but am glad to say my arm is almost quite
well again. It does take time. The bombardment by the Germans of all
our former _postes_ has become pretty nerve-racking. The house we
took for the attack has been hit twice. We had moved out only the day
before. They struck a schoolhouse close by and killed a nun and wounded
three harmless children. Our cars have been hit by scraps of shell, but
fortunately when none of the men were in them.
The suffering of the men in this hospital and the cries in the night
make it an inferno. Though I am glad I can help a little, I must say it
is on my nerves.
In this hospital--which is one of the best--they need very badly beds
for men who have had their vertebræ broken. These men live from two
to six months in a frame on their backs all the time. This is the way
they spend the last months of their lives. We have three men in this
condition now, and each time they are moved it takes at least four
men to change them and they suffer terribly. The special beds I speak
of are made on pulleys with bottom and sides which can be opened for
washing and service purposes. They cost forty dollars and France cannot
afford to buy them, as she has so many needs. If you could raise some
money for this purpose, you would be doing these poor fellows the last
favors they will have on this earth and help them in their suffering.