One afternoon in the middle of August a large, heavy wagon was drawn
into the yard. It bore the flag of the Red Cross on top, and on the
side in great white letters the words "Military Hospital."
In a few minutes a fleshy little gentleman, who at once distinguished
himself as the "Chef" (chief), and a number of other gentlemen, about
thirty-five in all, wearing white bands with red crosses on their
arms, and long white linen coats over their uniforms, such as bakers
sometimes wear, were seen hurrying to and fro, unpacking and carrying
their various instruments and utensils to the operating room.
A military chaplain and four or more doctors accompanied the group. All
except the chaplain were dressed in uniform. Several young ladies of
Willebroeck, former members of our Boarding-school, dressed in white
and wearing the head-dress and arm-band of the Red Cross, came next
day and graciously presented themselves to aid in taking care of the
wounded.
Coffins were provided by our village for the soldiers who died in our
hospital....
The condition of the poor maimed soldiers (as they were brought into
the convent) was sad to behold. One man, we were told by the Red Cross
nurses, had twenty bullets in his body; another was pierced through
the lung by a bayonet; one, aged twenty, lost an arm to the shoulder;
one had only one or two fingers left on the hand; one was crazed by a
bullet which touched the brain; another was shot through the mouth,
the bullet lodging in the back of the throat. His case was especially
distressing, his the most intense suffering of all. He lived for a week
without eating, drinking or speaking.
Three wounded Germans were brought in, being picked up on the
battlefield by members of our division of the Red Cross. They seemed
greatly distressed and afraid, positively refusing to touch food or
drink of which the Sisters or nurses did not first partake.
One day we were called upon to witness a most sorrowful sight. A small
farmer's wagon drove up to the gate, bearing the lifeless bodies of two
children, a girl aged eight and her brother, aged fourteen. The mother
and a smaller child were also in the wagon. The mother related that
they were taking flight as refugees. Seeing the enemy, they hastened to
retreat, and were fired at by the soldiers. The children, who were in
the back part of the wagon, were struck and wounded in a most frightful
manner. The little girl's face was nearly all torn off, and the back of
the boy's head had been shattered.
At the approach of Belgian soldiers, who fired at the enemy, the mother
was enabled to pick up the lifeless bodies of her children, put them
into the wagon and drive with them to our hospital, which was the
nearest post.
A little after four o'clock one afternoon, shortly before the departure
of the first division of the Red Cross, our attention was attracted by
the heavy and continuous tread of cavalry and soldiers passing along
the street. It was the Belgian army returning from a long and tiresome
march.
Here was found a different kind of suffering from that which was
ministered to in the hospital. Hunger and fatigue were stamped upon
the countenance of each of these men, who, about a month before were
industrious citizens at their daily occupations.
There were in the ranks priests, in their long black cassocks, wearing
the arm-band of the Red Cross, who, as volunteer chaplains, had joined
the army and were ever at the service of the soldiers on the march,
and even on the battlefield. We were informed that priests, and those
preparing for the priesthood, were not obliged to serve in the army in
time of peace; but, in case of war, they may be called upon to serve
as military chaplains. When the present war broke out, hundreds of
them joined as volunteers, marching in the ranks with the soldiers and
undergoing their sufferings and hardships.
Many doctors rode along in motor cars. They were distinguished by a
special dark-colored uniform, with a red collar and gilded trimmings.
They also wore the arm-band of the Red Cross. Officers on horseback led
each division of the army. The faces of all were disfigured with sweat
and dust, while dust in abundance covered shoes and clothing. Some were
staggering along, unable to walk straight, owing to the hard shoes and
blistered feet. Hollow-cheeked, and with eyes which seemed to protrude
from their sockets, they passed along, piteously imploring a morsel of
bread.
Fortunately, the abundant supply of bread in the Convent had just been
increased by the addition of forty of those immense loaves found only
in Belgium. All of this was hastily cut, buttered and, with baskets
full of pears, dealt out, piece by piece, to the passing soldiers,
until, finally, only a small portion remained over for the supper of
the wounded remaining in the hospital....
Before the command was given to enter the schools, we saw soldiers,
among whom were also priests, lying on the ground on the opposite side
of the street, even as horses which, having run a great distance, fall
down from sheer exhaustion. Some of these, we learned afterwards,
did not have their shoes off in nearly three weeks. The socks, hard
and worn out, were in some cases stamped into the blistered feet in
such a manner as to cause excruciating pain. In some cases the feet
were so painful and swollen that the patients had to be carried in on
stretchers. In the meantime, several ambulance wagons had stopped at
the school gate, and numerous wounded were carried in.
We retired at a late hour one night amid the incessant booming of
cannon. Scarcely were our eyes closed when some one passed in the
dormitory and knocked at each door. "Ave Maria," was the quiet
greeting. "Deo Gratias," the response. "What is it?" was asked. "The
Germans have entered and are crossing the bridge," was the reply.
With beating heart and trembling limbs, each sprang up and was dressed
in a few minutes. In a state of great excitement, all stood in the hall
ready to receive orders from the Superior, who had gone downstairs to
make inquiries about the situation....
The crackling of shells, the heavy cannonade from the fortress and
field cannon, and the occasional proximity of those hostile aeroplanes,
together with the reports of atrocities and destruction taking place
around us, were fearsome in the extreme.
In striking contrast to the noise and commotion on all sides, was
the calm tranquility which reigned in the chapel. The Sacred Heart
stretched forth that same Fatherly hand which assisted the apostle
sinking on the Sea of Galilee. The altar was still and solitary, but
the little red light flickered in the sanctuary lamp and told of Him
whose word alone stilled the winds and calmed the angry waves....