"MY BELOVED POILUS" THESE HOME LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN GIRL, DAUGHTER OF A RETIRED GENERALOF THE U. S. ARMY, GIVING HER TRAINED SERVICES, CARING FOR THE WOUNDEDIN FRANCE AT AN ARMY AMBULANCE AND SUCCORING DISTRESS WHEREVER SHE MEETSIT, ARE PUBLISHED BY HER FRIENDS WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE. SIMPLY ANDSOLELY TO RAISE MONEY TO AID HER IN HER WORK WHICH BEGAN ON THE 4th DAYOF AUGUST, 1914. EVERY DOLLAR RECEIVED FROM THE SALE OF THE BOOK, LESS BARE COST OFPRINTING AND EXPRESS CHARGES, GOES TO THE FUND. St. John, N. B. BARNES & CO. , Limited, PUBLISHERS. 1917 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Assistance of all Booksellers and Stationers is Solicited inPushing this Work. Price One Dollar. Single Copies by Mail Postage Paid. Address "Poilus, " Box 163, St. John, N. B. Hospital Contributions willbe received and acknowledged by A. C. Skelton, Manager Bank of BritishNorth America, St. John, N. B. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright. Canada, March 2, 1917. United States, March, 1917. First Edition, March 15, 1917. Second Edition, April 15, 1917. Engravings by F. C. Wesley Co. , St. John, N. B. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PREFACE. When Florence Nightingale began her great work in the hospital wards atScutari in 1854, she little realised how far-reaching would be theeffect of her noble self-sacrificing efforts. Could she to-day visit thewar-stricken countries of Europe she would be astonished at the greatdevelopments of the work of caring for the wounded soldiers which sheinaugurated so long ago. Her fine example is being emulated to-day byhundreds of thousands of brave women who are devoting themselves to thewounded, the sick and the dying in countless hospital wards. All too little is known of what these devoted nurses have done and aredoing. Some day the whole story will be given to the world; and thehearts of all will be thrilled by stirring deeds of love and bravery. Inthe meantime it is pleasing and comforting to catch fleeting glimpses ofa portion of the work as depicted in this sheaf of letters, now issuedunder the title of "My Beloved Poilus, " written from the Front by abrave American nurse. Two outstanding features give special merit to these letters. They werenot written for publication, but for an intimate circle of relatives andfriends. And because of this they are not artificial, but are free andgraceful, with homely touches here and there which add so much to theirvalue. Amidst the incessant roar of mighty guns; surrounded by thewounded and the dying; shivering at times with cold, and wearied almostto the point of exhaustion, these letters were hurriedly penned. No timehad she for finely-turned phrases. Neither were they necessary. Thesimple statements appeal more to the heart than most eloquent words. These letters will bring great comfort to many who have loved ones atthe Front. They will tell them something of the careful sympathetictreatment the wounded receive. The glimpses given here and there, ofthe efforts made by surgeons and nurses alike to administer relief, andas far as possible to assuage the suffering of the wounded, should provemost comforting. What efforts are made to cheer the patients, and tobrighten their lot, and what personal interest is taken in theirwelfare, are incidentally revealed in these letters. For instance, "Themen had a wonderful Christmas Day (1916). They were like a happy lot ofchildren. We decorated the ward with flags, holly and mistletoe, andpaper flowers that the men made, and a tree in each ward. " How these letters bring home to us the terrible tragedy that is going onfar across the ocean. And yet mingled with the feeling of sadness is thespirit of inspiration which comes from the thought of those brave menwho are offering themselves to maintain the right, and the devoted womenwho are ministering to their needs. Our heads bow with reverence, andour hearts thrill with pride, when we think of them. But we must domore than think and feel; we must do our part in supporting them andupholding their hands. They have given their all. They can do no more, and dare we do less? H. A. CODY, Rector St. James Church. Author of "Rod of the Lone Patrol, " "Frontiersman, " "If any Man Sin, " Etc. , Etc. St. John, N. B. , February 19th, 1917. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ INTRODUCTION The writer of these letters, a graduate of McGill College, and thePresbyterian Hospital, New York, left New York in the Spring of 1914with a patient, for the Continent, finally locating atDivonne-Les-Bains, France, near the Swiss border, where they were onAugust 1st, when war broke out. She immediately began giving herassistance in "Red Cross" work, continuing same until the latter part ofNovember, when she returned with her patient to New York--made a hurriedvisit to her home in St. John and after Christmas returned to again takeup the work which these letters describe. [Illustration: Ambulance Volant, France. ] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "MY BELOVED POILUS" Divonne-les-bains, France, August 2, 1914. DEAR MOTHER: The awful war we have all been dreading is upon us--_France isMobilizing_. At five o'clock yesterday morning the tocsin sounded fromthe Mairie (village hall) and men, women, and children all flocked tohear the proclamation which the Mayor of the village read. It calledupon all of military age--between twenty years and fifty years--to marchat once, and inside of twenty-four hours five hundred men had gone, theyknew not where. The bravery of these villagers--men and women--isremarkable, and not to be forgotten. No murmuring, nocomplaining, --just, "Ma Patrie, " tying up the little bundle--solittle--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 fortunateto get it at all; so many of these poor people, whose nearest anddearest have gone to fight for their country, have had no word from themsince 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 bothfathers and sons have gone, as the age limit is from twenty to fiftyyears. I am filled with admiration and respect for these people. The courageof both the men and women is remarkable. There is no hesitation, and nogrumbling, and everyone tries to do whatever he or she can to help thecause. I do not know if I told you, in my last letter, of the poor lady whowalked all night through the dark and storm to see her son who wasleaving the next morning. All the horses and motors had been taken bythe 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 atseven, so she had two hours with him. While there are such mothers inFrance 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 beenhelping them to get it in order. It is just about ready now, and we mayget soldiers any day. I have classes every morning and find many of the women very quick tolearn the rudiments of nursing. Every one in the place is makingsupplies and our sitting room is a sort of depot where they come forwork. If my patient is as well in October as she is now I am going to stay andgive my services to the "Red Cross. " If I have to go home with her Iwill come back--I would be a coward and deserter if I did not do all Icould for these poor brave people. October 25, 1914. Another Sunday--but this is cold and rainy--the days slip by so quicklyI cannot keep track of them. We have only two soldiers left at thehospital--they tell us every day that others are coming. The country allabout is perfectly beautiful with the autumn coloring. We do not seeany of the horrors of the war here. If it were not for the tales thatcome to us from outside, and for the poor broken men who come back, wewould not know it was going on. There are very enthusiastic accounts ofthe Canadians in all the English papers. PARIS, about February 15, 1915. Back safely in Paris after taking my patient to New York and a shortvisit 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 othersmall hospitals and had to go to the Clearing House to make arrangementsfor sending supplies, which I brought from home and New York, todifferent places. I have seen quite a number of operations, and as X-ray pictures aretaken 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 effectswhatever. The patients come out of it at once as soon as the mask istaken off, and there is no nausea or illness at all; and most of them gooff laughing, for they cannot believe that it is all over, --they feel sowell; but oh, mother, it is awful to see the sad things that havehappened. In some cases there are only pieces of men left. One youngchap, twenty-one years old, has lost both legs. At first he did not wantto live, but now he is beginning to take an interest in things and isbeing fitted for wooden legs. The dental department has done wonderful work. They build up the framework of the face and jaws and then the surgeons finish the work bymaking new noses and lips and eyelids. I thought I had seen a good manywonderful things, but I did not believe it possible to make any thinghuman out of some of the pieces of faces that were left, and in some ofthe cases they even get rid of the scars. Photos are taken when theyfirst come in, and then in the various stages of recovery. One of theworst cases I saw the last day I was out. He has to have one moreoperation to fill in a small hole in one side of his nose and then hewill be all right. Last Sunday one of the men in Miss B----'s ward was given the medal fordistinguished service. He had saved his officer's life--went right outbefore the guns and carried him in on his back. He was struck himselfjust before he got to his own lines and one leg almost torn off. Whenthey 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 itand saved the leg for the man. It will be stiff, of course, as the kneejoint is gone entirely; but will be better than a wooden leg, and thepoor 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 AmericanAmbulance; perhaps you have read about him in some of the papers. Hismaster came from Algeria, and of course did not expect to take his dogwith him, but when the ship left the wharf the dog jumped into the seaand swam after it, so they put off a boat and hauled him on board, andhe has been with his master all through the war. He was in the trencheswith him, and one day a German shell burst in the trench and killed allof his companions and buried this man in the mud and dirt as well asinjuring him terribly. Strange to say the dog was not hurt at all, andthe first thing the man remembered was the dog digging the mud off hisface. 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 notmany dry eyes about. After he was sure his master was being taken careof he consented to go and be fed, and now he is having the time of hislife. He is the most important person in the place. He has a beautifulnew collar and medal, lives in the diet kitchen, and is taken out towalk by the nurses, and best of all is allowed to see his master everyday. I will send a photo of him to you. His master has lost one leg, theother is terribly crushed, and one hand also, but Doctor B---- thinks hecan save them. I think I shall go back to Divonne-Les-Bains--they are urging me sostrongly 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--Ihave fallen into the old work so easily. I left Paris Sunday night abouteight o'clock and arrived here at two the next day, and had a warmwelcome 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 thetime, and the others up part of the day. One of the women of the villagehelps me in the morning, two others help with the cleaning up andserving 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 atseven in the morning and generally get back at nine or half past. I donot 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 regimentwhen a shell landed in his soup pot; he was not wounded, but his heartwas knocked out of place by the shock and his back was twisted when hefell. February 28, 1915. The poor man who was so very ill died on the morning of the twenty-thirdafter three weeks of intense suffering--I stayed that night with him. The others are all out of danger with the exception of two who cannotget well--one is paralyzed and the other has tuberculosis. I went to the village for the first time yesterday and was quite touchedby the welcome I received at every little shop and house. The peopleseemed genuinely glad to have me back. They cannot seem to get over thefact that I have crossed the ocean twice and come back to them. To themthe 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 totake care of in addition to the soldiers. In one house they had nothingto eat but potatoes, but he is a good deal like our dear old doctor, andfeeds 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 leavingto-morrow, and most of the others are getting along very well. Mr. E---- is indeed kind. He has just sent an order to the villagepeople, who make beautiful lace and embroidery, for $500. 00 worth ofwork. 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 totake care of, can earn only eighteen francs a month, that is $3. 60, andthat is all she has to live on. March 7, 1915. One of the American doctors from the American Ambulance came to see meyesterday. He was very much interested in what he saw and is coming backin ten days. We have had one or two beautiful days, the pussy-willowsare beginning to come out, and primroses everywhere. Dr. S---- said that the man who owned the wonderful dog that is at theAmerican Ambulance is really getting well, and they managed to save oneleg and the crushed hand. In Dr. B----'s service he did not do a single amputation during themonths of January and February, --a very wonderful record. Dr. S---- seems to think there is no hope of my poor paralyzed mangetting better, he may live for twenty years but can never walk. I amgiving him English lessons every day. He is very quick at learning; ithelps 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 inthe fields, they are smaller than ours but very fragrant; the yellowprimroses are beautiful and grow everywhere. There is still lots of snowon the mountains but none in the valley. If it were not for the soldierswho are here we could scarcely believe that terrible fighting is goingon so near us. A lot of our men went off last week, some of them scarcely able tohobble, poor things, but all the hospitals are being cleared out to makeroom for the freshly wounded. We are expecting a new lot every day, andhave prepared ten extra beds. I will have some letters this week to send to the "Red Cross" and "TheDe Monts" Chapter, I. O. D. E. , thanking them for the things they sentback by me; they have been so much appreciated, done so much good andrelieved so much distress. I gave some to Mademoiselle de C---- who sentthem to a small hospital in Normandy near their chateau, some to thehospital here, and some to a small hospital not far from here where theyare very poor; the doctor who is in charge there nearly wept when heknew 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 graypussies on all the willow trees and the other trees are beginning toshow 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 ofthe last air raid when the bombs were dropped. One fell so near theAmbulance at Neuilly that one of the doctors was knocked out of bed bythe shock. I had my paralyzed man out on the balcony to-day, it is the first timein six months that he has been out. One of the men here, who has lost the use of both hands, told me to-daythat he had six brothers in the army; two have been killed, two woundedand 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 onefinger left. Fortunately his employer is a good man and will take careof him; but think of the poor man, --horses are his chief joy, and hewill never be able to drive again. [Illustration: The hopelessly paralyzed man who afterwards walked twomiles 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 thePresbyterian than any other. We have four new soldiers but the largeconvoy has not yet arrived. There has been awful fighting in Alsacelately, so the wounded must come soon. To-day we had a specially good dinner for the men. Madam B---- gave themcigars 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 gratefulfor everything we do for them. The story of the dog has gone through the whole country, but it is niceto 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 afteranother 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 thesnow storms it poured rain; all the lovely, spring weather hasdisappeared. Wednesday night they announced the arrival of a train of wounded, forthe next morning at half-past five, but did not tell us how many toexpect. We all went to the Ambulance at half-past five and goteverything ready for dressing and beds prepared for thirty. At seventhirteen arrived, --all convalescents, and no dressings at all to do. Thelast time forty came, and all in a dreadful state of infection, so wenever know what to expect. I am not sorry I came back to Divonne for I feel that I have been ableto help more here than in Paris; there they have many to help and herevery 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 donesuch wonderful work in Alsace. [Illustration: Three Chasseurs d'Alpine called by the Germans "BlueDevils. "] April 19, 1915. I have had quite a busy week, for my men have been coming and going. Theparalyzed man has been sent to Bourg, the two Chasseurs d' Alpine havegone and I have six new ones--this lot is ill, not wounded. There arethree officers among them, --one is a cousin of Madam B----, the Frenchlady who helped establish this Ambulance. Her husband came on Thursday;he has eight days leave. He is very interesting, for he has been all upthrough the north of France. He is adjutant to one of the generals andtravels from eighty to one hundred miles a day in a motor, carryingdespatches. There is a French aviator here, but he has not got hismachine, 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 dayafter it snowed; we had to put some of the men to bed to keep themwarm. We have been very busy all week, new patients coming every daytill now we have forty. Most of them are not wounded. Poor fellows, theyare utterly done out; some have pneumonia, others rheumatism, oneparalyzed and all sorts of other things. This is a wonderful place forthem to come to and most of them get well very quickly. They are talkingof increasing the number of beds in the hospital and of making it aregular military one. In that case they will send a military doctor hereand the whole thing will be re-organized. They want me to promise totake charge of it, but I do not think it would be a wise thing, there isso much red tape and so many things about the military organization I donot 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 toDivonne-Les-Bains, France. May 2, 1915. I have never seen anything as lovely as the country is now, it is likeone 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 pieceof shrapnel out of his arm, and two others have been pretty ill; fourleave to-morrow, so the general clearing up will begin again. My poor old lady who had a stroke of paralysis died yesterday. I havebeen helping take care of her. The only son is at the front. So many oldpeople are dying this year; when they get ill they don't seem to haveany power of resistance; poor things, they have endured so much theycannot stand any more. There is a poor little woman here who comes from Dinant, that wasdestroyed by the Germans in the early part of the war. She has lost alltrace of her father and mother; her husband and brother have both beenkilled and their property utterly destroyed. Mr. B----, the pastor ofthe Protestant Church, has not been able to find his mother, whodisappeared last August. Every day we hear of something new. The papers are full of accounts of the gallant fighting of theCanadians, 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 ourtrip with Mrs. E----. Little did we think of the horrors that havehappened since. Seven more men went off last night, so we have only twenty left. I haveten on my floor, but only four in bed; the others are able to be out allday. Charrel, one of my patients who just left, was one of sixbrothers, all of whom went off the first days of the war; three havebeen killed, the other three wounded. I am going to Lyons on Thursday for a few days to visit some of thehospitals. The French papers are full of the heroism of the Canadian troops; theyhave done wonderful work at Ypres, but at what a terrible cost. I feel so proud every time I see the dressing gowns the DeMonts Chaptersent me--they are the nicest we have. May 18, 1915. I left here Thursday at noon with Madam B---- who went to Paris. BeforeI left I telegraphed to Madam M----, the wife of the soldier who washere such a long time, asking her to get me a room, but when I arrived Ifound the whole family at the station to meet me and they insisted on mygoing home to stay with them. They are very simple people, but so kindand hospitable. I think it is quite an event having a stranger stay withthem. We ate in the kitchen, and the whole family seemed to sleep in acupboard 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 withintwenty-four hours. I think the saddest part was the eye ward, there wereso many who would never see again and some of them so young. There weresome with both legs gone and others both feet, and many with one arm orleg missing. The boats on the river that were fitted up as hospitals were veryinteresting, but I fancy would be very hot in the summer and themosquitoes would be terrible. Saturday I spent the day with Mademoiselle R----, who had been stayingat the Hotel at Divonne for a time. The R----'s are a wealthy familywho have lived in Lyons for generations. Mademoiselle was able to takeme to a good many of the hospitals, as they have done a good deal forthem. We visited them in the morning, which was much more interesting, as we saw the work going on. At two of the hospitals wounded werearriving when we left there, so we saw the whole thing. I also saw thedressing being done in one of the large military hospitals. In theafternoon we went to a "Red Cross" hospital, where she worked in thelingerie; there are fifty beds and the patients are taken care of by thesisters. 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 Romanswhere Mrs. C---- is working in a military hospital. At eight I arrivedat 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 onthe sidewalk before a cafe, --a most excellent meal for fifty cents. Ifound Mrs. C---- at the convent, where she is staying; fortunately shehad the afternoon off. She has charge of the dressings and all of theinfected operations. At the hospital where she is they have fortywounded Germans; they seem very contented and glad to be there. Mrs. C---- says it is dreadful to do their dressings, for they have noself-control at all; they have a certain dogged courage that makes themfight as they do, in the face of certain death, but when they arewounded they cannot stand the pain. The French, on the contrary, seldomsay a word; they will let one do anything, and if the pain is very badthey moan occasionally or say a swear word, but I have never seen onewho lost control of himself and screamed. I had dinner with Mrs. C---- at the convent, and at 7. 15 took the trainfor 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 seemlong, --troops coming and going all the time and a hospital train withthree hundred wounded arrived. Monday morning I left for Divonne and arrived back very tired but wellsatisfied with my trip. I found two new patients, one with a leg as big as an elephant and theother 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 bushelin 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 himon milk diet the first day--but he did not approve, so he went to thevillage and bought a loaf of bread and some ham. Between the florist of the village and the wife of one of the soldiers Iam kept well supplied with roses. I wish I could share my riches withyou. 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 havethem go but I cannot understand the attitude of those who will not go orwho object to their men and boys going. You are just beginning to feelnow what they have been suffering here since August last. Madam L'H---- was called back to Verdun to-day; she was supposed to havethree weeks' holidays, but has only been away ten days. She is not fitto go back but there is no help for it. There was great excitement here when Italy finally declared war. It isawful to think of the brutes throwing bombs on Venice. I do hope theywill not do any harm there. I must say good-night, for I am tired. I am up at half-past five everymorning 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; theydo not know just what the extent of the injury is, but he is completelyparalyzed from the waist down. Fortunately he is very small, so it isnot difficult to take care of him; he is the most cheerful soul, andsays 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 hadno 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 hasreceived the Medaille Militaire for bravery, and his comrades said hecertainly deserved it. He is so glad to get here, where it is realcountry and quiet. We put him on a chaise longue on the balcony to-dayand he has been out of doors all day long. It is after ten o'clock, but I am still at the Ambulance. We are waitingfor 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 longtime on the way. No letters this week; regulations are very strict again, and they areholding 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 offifteen. Such a tired dirty lot they were; they came straight from thebattle field, and had only had one dressing done since they werewounded. Some of them came on stretchers, others were able to walk, asthey were wounded in the arms and head. I drew two from this lot, whichbrings my number up to seventeen again. One of mine has both bonesbroken in his leg and the other is wounded in the left side andshoulder. One poor chap had been a prisoner in one of the trenches forfour days and they were unable to get any food all that time; most ofthem have slept ever since they arrived, they were so exhausted. To-day a military doctor came from Besançon to show us about somespecial electrical treatment. They are going to increase the beds byfifty to begin with, and later may make it three hundred. The news is not good to-day, the Russians seem to be retreating all thetime and the losses in the north are terrible. There seems to be nodoubt in the minds of many people that the war will last another year atleast; it seems too terrible. June 27, 1915. I did not get my letter off to-day as there was so much to do. We havehad inspection all week. They have finally decided to enlarge thehospital very much and make it a semi-military institution of fourhundred beds. We are to turn the large dining-room into a ward withfifty beds, and the large part of the hotel will hold three hundredmore. They want me to take charge. Dr. R---- will be chief with twoassistants. There will be forty men nurses--convalescent soldiers--and Ido not know how many more women nurses. I am very glad it has been sodecided, for it is a great pity this place has not been of more use. Ourlast lot of men are getting on very well now; but we have had a hardweek, for some of them were very ill. The doctor was very much afraidone 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 andvillage. 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 oldand runs around like a rabbit--is as pretty as a picture. I am so sleepyI can hardly see, so good-night. July 4, 1915. I was glad to get your letter this week; three weeks on the way is along 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 knowthey are on the way, for they are needed badly and they will get a royalwelcome, for Canadians have proved their worth. When they were inbarracks 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 weresome officers who said that while others were splendid fighters theCanadians were marvelous. It must have been terribly hard for Mrs. ---- to let S---- go. I wishyou would ask her for his address. I will try and get in touch with himand if he should be ill or wounded tell her I will go to him if I haveto 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 comesover 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 Alsacehas been terrible. The last lot of soldiers that came were Chasseurs d'Alpine, and out of one thousand two hundred who went off only fivehundred came back, and the greater number of them wounded. Fifteen young men from this village have been missing since the terriblebattle of three weeks ago, the deaths of a half a dozen have beenconfirmed but of the others nothing is known. I am afraid there is no chance of the war finishing before the winter isover. I wish somebody would organize a "French Day" or "Divonne Day" andcollect pennies for me; we will need so many things before the winter isover. The general who came the other day said to make the money we havego to the furthest possible point, and then make debts--the soldiersmust be taken care of. July 11, 1915. We have had arrivals and departures all week. The days are not half longenough to do all that is necessary. My four men who came for electricaltreatment are getting on wonderfully well, the big one who was paralyzedand who could not move hand or foot when he came, is now walking withoutcrutches, 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 canmake the movements of walking and can put both legs straight out infront of him, and the doctor says there is great hope of a permanentcure. Poor little man, he deserves to get well, for I have never seensuch courage and patience. We begin to-morrow to prepare the bigdining-room for fifty new patients, so we shall have a busy week. I amto have charge of the big ward and keep my floor as well. I will havetwo 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 aregetting 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 wereat Metezeral. We have four from the Seventh Chasseurs, whose regimentwas decorated for unusual bravery. My paralyzed man stood up alone last Sunday for the first time and nowhe walks, pushing a chair before him like a baby. He is the happiestthing you can imagine; for seven months he has had no hope of everwalking again. Seven left last week and six more go on Monday, so we shall probably geta train load before long. I have got a small English boy to help me in the mornings. He has beenat school in Switzerland and the whole family have come here for thesummer in order to help at the Ambulance. One of the great actors from Paris was here on Wednesday and played andsang for the men. He is making a tour in an automobile and visiting allthe hospitals in order to give performances for the soldiers. Acollection is taken up afterwards that goes towards the support of thehospital. The men were a most appreciative and enthusiastic audience. There is a young Swiss doctor from Geneva here now who has come to helpDr. ---- who is very tired. I think he is rather surprised at the amountof work the old doctor gets through in a day. He said this morning thathe 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 poorgirl is terribly afraid he has been killed. He was at Arras, and thefighting there has been terrible. Fifteen of the young men from the village are missing and every daycomes the news of the death of some one. We got five new men yesterday for electrical treatment; two of them areregular giants and we cannot get any clothes or shoes to fit them. Theyare devoted to my little paralyzed man, and sit around and watch him asif he was a baby just learning to walk. I feel as sleepy as a dried apple to-night, so please forgive me if Itell 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. DoctorR---- was much surprised at the progress he had made in eight days; hesays there is no doubt but that he will be entirely cured. Dailletwrote to his mother and told her that he could stand alone and wasbeginning to walk, but she did not believe it; she thought that he wasjust trying to cheer her up, so he asked me to take a photo of himstanding 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 cameto see him, so the poor mother is finally convinced that it is true, andis coming to see him as soon as the haying is done, but she has to workin the fields now and cannot get away. It is wonderful the work that the women do here. There are only two oldhorses left in the whole village, so the women harness themselves intothe rakes and waggons and pull them in place of the horses--and they soseldom complain of the hard work. I asked one woman if she did not findit very hard, and she said at first it came very difficult but she gotused 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 inthe morning before we got the dressings done and got them to bed. It isthe second time that some of them have been wounded. They are allChasseurs d' Alpines--they are a splendid type. Some of them had bothlegs and both arms wounded. Yesterday we were rather anxious aboutseveral of them, but to-day they are better. They generally sleep aboutthree days after they arrive, they are so done out. Mrs. H---- has had to leave to care for a typhoid patient, so my handsare very full. My English boy is getting trained rapidly; he is onlyseventeen and not very strong, too young to go to the war but very keento do something to help. Do not worry about me, I am as well as possible and as strong as ahorse, but as my day begins at half-past five in the morning and ends athalf-past nine at night I fall asleep over my letters. Thanks for the clippings; I would not have known B---- if the name hadnot been there. I do not dare to think of his coming, and yet I wouldnot be proud of him if he did not want to come. I shall try and get upto 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. Iwish I could see you to-night. August 1, 1915. To say that I was delighted will not express my feelings when I got theletter from the Loyalist Chapter, I. O. D. E. , enclosing cheque. It wasawfully good of them to help us here, for I realize the demands forhelp on every side and it is only natural that they should send to theCanadians first. But O! it is so badly needed and will do so much goodhere. I had been racking my brain trying to think of a way to scratch upa few pennies, and then this delightful surprise came. This hospital is called the "Paradise of the Seventh Region, " for it isso very far ahead of most of the French military hospitals. But whilethere 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 greatlack of what we consider necessities. The first thing I did when I gotthe 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 thepharmacy and for each floor, and various other small things that I havebeen longing for and that will save many steps. Now that the capacityof the hospital has been increased by fifty beds, it is more difficultthan ever to get money from the general fund for things of that kind; itreally has to be kept for food and heating. We also need instruments andbasins, etc. , for a table for dressings in the new ward, as we haveabsolutely nothing. Then it is so nice to have a fund that we can drawon in case of need. Sometimes the men are terribly poor and cannotafford to get anything for themselves when they leave. Sometimes aticket for a wife or daughter to come to see them and cheer them up. Itis the second time some of these men have been wounded and they have notseen their families for a year. It is just a year to-day (August 1st) since mobilization began. At fiveo'clock in the morning the tocsin sounded and all the village gatheredat the Town Hall to read the notice of mobilization. There were manysad and anxious hearts then, but many more now, for there is not afamily who has not lost someone who is near and dear to them--and stillit goes on. I wonder when the end will come. My prize patient, Daillet, walks down stairs by himself now by holdingon to the railing like a child. We are all proud of him. The doctor whosent him here from Besançon came in the other day to see how he wasgetting 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 upat half-past four instead of half-past five. August 15, 1915. In the face of all the terrible things which are happening one must notworry over little things. I have got to the stage now when I feel as ifone should never complain or worry if they have a roof over their headsand enough to eat, and that all one's efforts should be given tohelping 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 coupleof 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 anyof this lot, as my rooms were full. There were not so manywounded, --more sick, rheumatism, bronchitis, etc. One poor man said itwas like going directly from hell to heaven; it was the first time hehad slept in a bed for a year. Some of them have been wounded for thesecond 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 holdingup the mails again. We heard this morning that there are French troops guarding the borderat Crassier, just half a mile from here. We hear all the Swiss border isto be protected by barbed wire. I do not know what it all means unlessit 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 wereready to operate, and between the two I did not know whether I was on myhead or my heels. Thirty of our men will go off on Monday and we willprobably get a train full later in the week. We have a phonograph with a rasping voice that plays from morning tonight. The soldiers love it; the poor things are so used to noise thatthey don't seem happy without it, but sometimes I feel as if I couldscream. One of the men got a telegram saying his mother was dying; the doctorgave him forty-eight hours leave--all he could possibly do--so he wenthome and has just got back; could not stay for the funeral, but was sothankful to have been able to see her. If he had been at the front thatwould 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 runover the mountains; the view was magnificent. We took one of thesoldiers with us and he enjoyed himself immensely; it was the first timehe had ever been in one. Sunday, August 29, 1915. It is pouring rain, it is sad to say, as the soldiers are having alittle celebration. A band came from Noyon and the Count de Divonne madea speech, two of the men received their Croix de Guerre, the doctormade such a nice little speech to each of them. It was very touching tosee the groups of men, some with arms in slings and others with legs andheads bandaged, and some who could not stand at all, still others werein 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 twoin a week and then again none for three weeks. Thirty-three men go off to-morrow, some of them cured and back to thefront, some who will never be better, and some to go home onconvalescence. To-day the florist in the village sent a clothes basket full of roses tothe Ambulance for the fete. I thought of you and wished you could havesome. September 5, 1915. Thanks for the money you sent from a friend in your last letter. I willuse it wisely and make it go as far as possible. There will be moresuffering this winter than there was last, but they are so brave, thesepeople, they seldom complain of anything. There is a little woman here whose husband was killed. She makes twentycents a day selling papers and gets ten cents a day pension. She hasthree children, the eldest a girl of twelve. I got her a good pair ofboots the other day and warm underclothes for the other children. Shewas so grateful. Don't worry about me. My expenses are very small, I have not bought anyclothes and do not need any this winter. To-day they had a big concert in the hotel, the proceeds go to theAmbulance. We have had an awful week of rain and cold, but hope for a little moresunshine to thaw us out. Our good doctor is going to be married next month. I am so glad, for helives 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 houseand 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 tohave me leave, but it will be a much larger field and the kind of aplace where there will be much to do. They have all been so nice to mehere about helping me get my papers ready to send to the Minister ofWar, so I do not think there will be any difficulty of my gettingthrough. I go to Paris first, then to Dunkirk, where Mrs. T---- willmeet me, after that my destination is uncertain. Do not worry if you donot hear from me regularly, for it may be difficult to get mailthrough. I will write as usual. I cannot tell you how glad I am to be able to go to the front, for itmeans a chance to do good work and I shall be so glad to be in the northwhen B---- comes over and nearer the Canadian boys. Even if I cannotsee them I shall not feel so far away. One of my men to-day got word that his baby, seven months old, had justdied and the little girl of two is very ill. He expected to go next weekand has been counting the days till he could see them. He has never seenthe baby as it was born after the war began--another one of the sadthings 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 somuch 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 Fridayfor Dunkirk. I am up to my eyes in work, for there is so much to be donebefore leaving and new people to break in. Three military nurses arrivedyesterday, but it is rather difficult to manage for they know nothing atall 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. Oneis 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 intheir favor. If they are able to raise any money for me I will see that it is wiselyspent. There is great need everywhere, and I am proud of the people ofSt. John, they have done so much. There is a poor woman who lives in a little village near here. She hadtwo sons--one has been killed in the war, the other a helpless cripplefor eighteen years and is not able to move out of his chair. He makesbaskets sometimes, but now there is no one to buy the baskets. Themother goes out by the day but can earn so little. I gave him fivefrancs, 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 aloneand 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 incomesince the war began. It has gradually gone down from $3, 000. 00 per yearto $500. 00; four of them to live on that amount. So many people are injust 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 tofollow at my new post. PARIS September 23, 1915. I am off to-morrow at 7. 30 a. M. , to Boulogne, then Calais and reachDunkirk at 9. 30 p. M. I have had two very strenuous days and will be glad to rest in the trainto-morrow. It took such a time to get my papers in order. Thethermometer 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, butit is within ten miles of the firing line, and not far from the placewhere so many of our boys from home have been sent. I thought when Icame here that it would be entirely English, as the lady who gave thehospital is an American married to an Englishman. The English are notfar away but they are taken to their own hospitals. We belong to a little wedge of the French that is in between theEnglish and Belgians. It is a regular field hospital and is composed ofa 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 colonyset down in the fields and the streets are wooden sidewalks. The first night I arrived I did not sleep, for the guns roared all nightlong, and we could see the flashes from the shells quite plainly; thewhole sky was aglow. The French and English guns sounded like acontinuous roar of thunder; but when the shells from the German gunslanded on this side we could feel a distinct shock, and everything inour little shanty rattled. Yesterday I saw my first battle in the air between German and Frenchaeroplanes. We could scarcely see the machines, they were so high up inthe air, but we could see the flashes from their guns quite distinctlyand hear the explosion of the shells. To-day a whole fleet of aeroplanespassed 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 ofpeople till I am weary. I hope they are satisfied at last, but I cannotgo off the hospital grounds until I have two different kinds of passesgiven to me, --one is a permission to go on the roads about here and theother is good as far as Dunkirk. We have a man in our ward who had a piece of shrapnel the size of an eggin 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, inthe arm and leg. As we got him within two hours after he was woundedthere was no infection, and having a clever surgeon he is getting alongfamously. Another poor chap has lost his right arm and shot through theliver as well as being cut up by piece of shrapnel--he is getting wellalso. Two have died, and it is a blessing; for to live in darkness therest of one's life is worse than death. The Germans are using a new kindof gas bomb that blinds the men. It is pouring rain to-night and cheerless enough here, but I can onlythink of the poor men in the trenches. I got a joyful surprise to-day--a letter from Mr. Bell enclosing postoffice order from Mr. Calhoun, of Philadelphia. Nothing gives me so muchpleasure as to help these poor people. It is beginning to get cold. I shall get bed socks for the men, for theyhave not enough hot water bags to go round and all suffer from coldfeet. I passed Colonel MacLaren's hospital in the train--it is veryimpressive to see the rows and rows of white tents. I also saw someCanadian nurses in the distance, and did so want to get out and speak tothem. I must go to bed now to get warm. As long as one keeps going the cold isnot 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 isalways sending me something. I do hope they all realize how grateful Iam and how much good I have been able to do. I have been very carefulhow I spent it. A boy of twenty went off to-day. He had absolutely nothing warm to puton him, so I got him an outfit at Dunkirk--he was almost blown topieces, poor boy, and he said that one sock was all that was left of hisclothes. They provide them with necessary things at the hospital, butsometimes the supply gets a bit low and now it is so cold they needextra underclothing. When he was brought in they put him in a ward byhimself because they thought he would not live through the night, he wasso terribly wounded. His right arm was gone, he had a bullet in hisliver--it is still there--and multiple wounds of head and body. But hemade a wonderful recovery and went away very white and weak, butcheerful and confident that he will get something to do that will notrequire two hands. He has the Medaille Militaire and the Croix deGuerre, and his Lieutenant, Captain and General have all been to see himseveral times--they say he was a wonderful soldier. [Illustration: Thought to be a hopeless case but everyone must havetheir chance, three doctors operated at once amputating leg, an arm andtrepanning. Now as happy as the day is long. ] Three of us went to Dunkirk by motor to get various supplies. We sawmany interesting things on the way, and in Dunkirk saw the destructioncaused by the bombardment. The whole side was out of the church andseveral houses were simply crushed like a pack of cards. Some of thenurses were in Dunkirk when it was bombarded, and they said the noisewas the most terrifying part of it all. The day we went to Dunkirk we saw a lot of armoured cars. Such curiouslooking things they are--some are painted with blotches of yellow andgreen and gray and red and brown so they cannot be distinguished fromthe landscape. We saw lots of English troops. I looked in vain forCanadians, but they are not far off. It has been awfully cold so far and rains most of the time. We havedecided that we shall just keep putting on clothes like the Italians doin winter and never take anything off. We get wounded every day, sometimes not more than half a dozen, but asthey are almost all seriously wounded we are kept busy. There have been so many troops moving on lately, that we thought wewould be left without anything to do. We have orders not to do anythingthat is not absolutely necessary as we may have to move also. I believe the hospital at Divonne has been taken over by the nuns. Imiss the lovely flowers that I had there. I share a small room with twoother nurses and there is not much room to spare. We have boxes put upon end for tables and wash-stands, and there is only one chair. Some ofthe nurses have tents, two in each. We have had a terrible busy week. All the new ones that came into myward lived only thirty-six or forty-eight hours--they were too far goneto save. Five went away cured, and they really were cases to be proudof. I think it was the sweetest thing of little Mary Murray to send me herbirthday money for my soldiers. I have been getting them fruit andcigarettes for Sunday. That is the thing that overwhelms me attimes--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 havebeen bombarding some place near at hand, for the whole earth seemed toshake. The boys who drive the American ambulance and bring our patients in saythis place is a sort of heaven to them, they are always glad to gethere. Mrs. T---- does everything she can for them. They are a nice lotof boys and are doing good work. Some of the poor men who have lost large pieces of their intestinesfind the hospital diet a little hard. MOBILE NO. 1, November 7, 1915. Letter writing is done, under difficulties here. I have gone to bed inorder to keep warm and have a small lantern with a candle in to lightthe paper. November 15, 1915. I did not get any further with my letter for the kitty insisted uponplaying with the candle and I was afraid we would have a fire, and sincethen I have been so busy I have not had a minute. We have had threeglorious days and have appreciated them, I can tell you. It has been socold and wet we have all been water-logged. As for me, I have no word toexpress my gratitude for all the friends have sent to me. I am quiteoverwhelmed with all the gifts of money and supplies, but I shall makegood 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 thewomen in one of the villages here to knit into socks. There is a dearold English colonel who has a soup kitchen near the firing line, and heis always looking for socks. He does a great deal of good, for he getsthe men when they are carried in from the trenches and gives them hotdrinks and hot water bottles, and warm socks when he has them. So manyof the men have just straw in their boots and are almost frozen. Itmakes 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 broughtin here just caked with mud from head to foot. Oh, how glad I was to get the cheque from the "Red Cross" Society andthe cheque from Miss G----. I have written to her and would like towrite 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 tothe French government. The expenses of running it are paid by them, butI think Mrs. ---- pays the nurses and also helps out in the way of extrasupplies. On All Saints Day we went to the little cemetery and decorated thegraves of the soldiers who have died in the hospital. There was aspecial mass and service in the churchyard and the General sent us aninvitation. It was pouring rain but I would not have missed it foranything, and I only wish the mothers, wives and sisters could know howbeautiful it all was and how tenderly cared for are the lastresting-places of their dear ones. It was a picture I shall neverforget. The corner of the little churchyard with the forty new graves soclose together, each marked with a small wooden cross and heaped highwith flowers--the General standing with a group of officers and soldiersall with bared heads--the nurses and one or two of the doctors from thehospital behind them, and then the village people and refugees--hundredsof them, it seemed to me--and the priest giving his lesson--and all thetime the rain coming down in torrents and nobody paying any attention toit. There were no dry eyes, and when the General came and shook handswith us afterwards, he could not speak. He is a splendid man, veryhandsome and a patriot to the backbone, --one of the finest types ofFrenchmen. Do not worry about me for I am very well and so glad to be here in spiteof the cold and discomforts. Mrs. S----'s socks and bandages have justcome. November 28, 1915. It is bitterly cold here, and we feel it more because it is so damp. Ican't tell you how thankful I am to be able to get socks and warm thingsfor the men. We can send things to the first dressing station by theambulances, and from there they go to the trenches at once. Mrs. D----'ssocks came yesterday, and I sent them off to Colonel Noble, who has thesoup kitchen at the front. All Mrs. S----'s have been given away. It wassuch a good idea to have them white, for they put them on under theothers and it often saves the men from being infected by the dye of thestockings. This morning when I got up my room was like a skating pond, for themoisture 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 startedwe do not mind the cold. The patients have plenty of blankets and hot water bottles, so they donot suffer. Two Zeppelins went over our head yesterday, but fortunately we are toounimportant to be noticed. I suppose that is one of the reasons theywill not let us say where we are, for there are so many spies everywherethat can send information. An English nurse came yesterday; she has had most interestingexperiences. She was in Brussels when it was taken by the Germans andwas 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 werevery nice and grateful. For three days and nights the guns have thundered without ceasing. Iwonder 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 mainsidewalk of the Ambulance. It was a very funny sight, for she was like alittle 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 hutwould be carried over into the German lines. It rained in torrents andthe roof leaked, and I could not get my bed away from the drips, so Iput 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 forthe first time. I have ordered six dozen pair of socks from Paris. My nice old EnglishColonel Noble (with the soup kitchen) is always clamoring for them. Ithink he saves lots of the men from having frozen feet. Madge S----'swool 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 thesuffering the men had a very happy day. In my ward all but one were wellenough to enjoy the tree, and they were like a lot of children withtheir stockings. Christmas Eve one of the orderlies who was on guardhelped me decorate the ward and trim the tree, then we hung up theirstockings. They had oranges, sweets and cigarettes and some small toysand puzzles and various things of that kind to amuse them. I had a package for each one in the morning, and, thanks to my goodfriends at home, was able to give them some nice things. I had a pair ofwarm 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 thingmade especially for the trenches and which delighted them verymuch--also a small box of sweets, and to several of the very poor ones Igave a small purse with five francs in it. One poor boy said he hadnever 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 enoughto eat. Christmas day at four o'clock the tree was lighted, and one of the manypriests who act as infirmiers here came round to the different wards andsang carols. He has a very beautiful voice and was much appreciated bythe soldiers. Mrs. Turner then came in, followed by an orderly with ahuge hamper containing a present for each man. They had a wonderfuldinner, soup, raw oysters, (which came from Dunkirk by motor), plumpudding, 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 toconsider, they had a royal feast. She also gave a grand dinner to allthe infirmiers and men on the place--had a tree for them and a presentfor each one. We also had a good dinner and a present for each. Shecertainly 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 apackage to send home to his children. They were even more delighted tobe 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 Imoved his bed to the end of the ward and put screens around it so thathe would not be disturbed and that the others would not be disheartenedby seeing him. He was so much better Christmas night that we had greathopes of saving him, but to-day he died. He was wounded in seven placesand one hip was gone. The General came at four o'clock and decoratedhim. He roused up and saluted and seemed so pleased. In the evening thedoctor came to do his dressing and he seemed much better. After thedoctor had gone he turned to me and said, "That Major knows what he isabout, he is a corker. " Ben Ali, my prize Arab, had a wonderful day. He ate too much and had tostay in bed to-day, but he has been wrapping and unwrapping his presentsand having a fine time. He is just like a child, he is so pleased. Hehas taken a great fancy to me and asked me to visit him after the war isover. We had midnight mass on Christmas eve for the infirmiers and personnelof the hospital. One of the empty wards was fitted up as a chapel and aFranciscan monk from Montreal officiated. He is on duty here in thelingerie, and is a splendid man. He is delicate, has some serious hearttrouble, so that he need not stay, but he came over to do what he couldfor his country and his services are invaluable here. His mother was inthe north of the country taken by the Germans and he has not been ableto get any news of her for more than a year. We have had orders from head-quarters to close all the shutters as soonas the lights are lit, so we feel as if we were shut up in packingcases. There were a great many aeroplanes flying about to-day, so I supposethey are expecting an attack of some kind. It is blowing a gale to-nightand 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 itwill bring a lasting peace! The boxes have not turned up yet, but theydoubtless will one of these days, and we will be all the more glad tosee them because we have used up everything else. I expected to go on night duty immediately after Christmas, but we hadsuch sick people in my ward they did not want to make a change justthen. It is blowing a gale again to-night, and raining in torrents; it seemsas if it would never stop raining. The roof of one of the wards wasloosened the other night the wind was so strong, so the patients had tobe all moved out while it was being mended. Our barracks had to bepropped 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 wegot rid of a great many--eighteen went on Tuesday, twenty on Friday andnineteen more are to go next Tuesday. The roof nearly blew off my ward last night, so my patients had to bemoved into the next ward till it is mended. I am going to take advantageof it and have a thorough house cleaning. Le Roux, the boy who has been here so long and who has been so terriblyill, 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 theywill send the medals to his people, it seems hard that they should havebeen just too late to give them to him. The next day I went to hisfuneral--the first soldier's funeral I have seen. I was impressed withthe dignity and simplicity of it. The plain deal coffin was covered witha black pall, which had a white cross at the head, the French flagcovered the foot and a bunch of purple violets, tied with red, whiteand blue ribbon, lay between. It was carried in one of the coveredmilitary carts. At three o'clock the little procession started for thecemetery. First came the priest in soldier's uniform, carrying a smallwooden cross, on which was written Le Roux's name and the name of hisregiment. One of this kind is always put at the head of each grave. Thencame three soldiers with guns on their shoulders, then the car bearingthe coffin, and on each side three soldiers with arms reversed; directlybehind were two infirmiers and three soldiers with guns on theirshoulders, we two nurses in our uniforms, then two officers and somemore soldiers. As we went down the road to the little church in R---- wepassed long lines of soldiers going somewhere, and everyone saluted. Afew stray people followed us into the church and afterwards to thegraveyard, 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 manymore graves had been added to the line. The ward seems very emptywithout Le Roux, but I am glad that the poor boy is at rest for he hassuffered so long. I am beginning to think that death is the only goodthing 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 nineand sometimes ten, etc. To-night we have had only six so far, but willprobably have some more before eight a. M. , they have all been very badcases. There has been a terrific bombardment every night we have been onduty. My little tent nearly blew away in the big wind storm, so I had to sleepin the barracks--or rather try to sleep. I did not succeed very well, soto-day I moved back to the tent. From my bed in the tent I can see thetroops passing on the road and aeroplanes in the sky. To-day we saw somany we knew it would mean trouble to-night. The trenches werebombarded, and some of the poor men who were wounded had to lie in themud and cold for over twelve hours before they could be moved, consequently they arrived here in a pretty bad shape. One of the men hadon a pair of Mrs. D----'s socks. I had sent them to Colonel Noble and hegave them to the men in the trenches. It has been clear and frosty fortwo nights, such a relief after all the rain. The hospital is full ofvery 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 inbed. I like sleeping out in the little tent and as a rule sleep verywell--have a cup of hot tea when they wake us at six o'clock. I weartwo pair of socks, beside the rooms are not so frightfully damp since wegot up the little stoves; they get dried out once a day, which is agreat 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 theaeroplane when she sings. When I have a chance I shall go back to Divonne for a rest--it is toofar to go home--but there does not seem any chance of it at present. TheEnglish nurses who have been here six months will have to go first, andwe are more than busy. There are two new nurses coming nextweek--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 andsimple life is very healthy, even if it is not always comfortable. Iseem to be as strong as an ox and the more I have to do the better Ifeel. It is joyful to hear that I am to have some more money. St. John peoplecertainly have been good. A box came to-day from Trinity, it had beenopened. 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 aprocession of wounded coming and going all the time, for we have to sendthem off as quickly as possible in order to make room for the newarrivals. Thirty-eight went off last Tuesday and fifteen on Friday, butthe beds are filled up again. The last ones we have been getting are sobadly wounded that I wonder who can be moved on Tuesday. We have hadwild wind and rain for the last week, but to-day is cold and clear andfor the first time in weeks it is quiet--the cannonading has beenincessant. Two English aviators were brought in yesterday whose machine fell quitenear here; fortunately they are not very badly hurt. The box from the high school girls came to-day, and it was like havingChristmas all over again, --such a nice lot of things there were. I shallhave a fine time distributing them. Here comes the ambulance. One poor man died in the receiving ward andthe other two went to the operating room at once. They both havesymptoms of gas gangrene, and I am afraid one will lose an arm and theother 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 gettingrather beyond us. Two of them are Canadians from Toronto. They know everso many people I know. They sailed from St. John at Christmas time andsaw so many St. John friends of mine--they said everyone was so good tothem. We do not get a minute during the night and some days have been up tolunch time. February 22, 1916. There have been two big attacks and we have had our hands full. SinceSunday the cannonading has gone on without ceasing. It seems to be allround 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 ofa great fire--it would be very beautiful if one could get away from thehorror of what it all means. The aeroplanes were almost as thick as the motors--one came down in afield near the hospital yesterday--the wings were riddled with bullets, but fortunately the aviator was not hurt. We often see taubes, andZeppelins have gone over us several times, though I could not recognizethem, but the noise was unmistakeable. The wounded are nearly allbrought in at night so we have our hearts and hands full. The othernight twenty-three came in at once so we had to call up the day peopleto help us; seventeen were operated upon and all are getting well butone. From the twenty-third July, 1915, until the first January, 1916, sevenhundred and fifty patients have been cared for here and sixty-six havedied. I have had over one hundred wounded come in at night this lastmonth, and as they all come directly from the trenches you can imaginewhat 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 Frenchlanguage 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 isworse than ever. I feel that I can never be grateful enough to the people who haveenabled me to do so much for these poor men. I am going to order somemore pillows, they are things that we need very much. All the lung caseshave to sit up in bed and need a great many pillows to make themcomfortable. Strange to say we have not lost a lung case and we have hadsome 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; hewill be able to go home next week. When he came in he was in very badcondition and he could not speak for a week. The treatment is to sitthem up in bed and give them morphine every day to keep them perfectlyquiet, the hemorrhage gradually stops and they get well very quickly. Wehave had a number of deaths from that awful gas gangrene; there is notmuch hope when that attacks them. [Illustration: AMBULANCE VOLANT, in Winter. ] The bombardments have been so terrible lately that those who arewounded 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 peoplecame out from the village to ask if we could help a poor girl who hadbeen burned. Mrs. Turner and I went at once with all sorts of dressingsand found her in a terrible state--her whole body burned--so of coursethere was no hope. She only lived three days. I went in the mornings todo her dressing and another nurse in the afternoon. She was burned bylighting 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 outthere will be no danger of the Germans getting through; but what aterrible waste of good material on both sides. Mrs. Turner has been obliged to go to Paris and has left me in charge ofthe 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 hasgrown to be just a common ordinary cat now, but she caught a rat theother 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 underme. We had quite an exciting time yesterday watching a German being chasedby four French machines. They all disappeared in the clouds so we do notknow what happened. To-day I counted eleven aeroplanes in the air atonce as well as three observation balloons. One aeroplane came so closeover the barracks that we could wave to the pilot. We had a lot of patients out of doors to-day, some on stretchers, otherson chairs, and others had their beds carried out--they enjoyed it somuch. We take advantage of all the good weather. It is pouring again to-night and the guns are booming in an ominousmanner. One day last week I went to Poperinghe with Mrs. C----. We heard therewas 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 whilehe was inspecting the Belgian trenches. We were rather overwhelmed atfirst, but I arranged a corner of one of the wards and he spent one dayand night there while we fixed up an empty ward for him. The next dayhis wife arrived and she is camping quite contentedly in another cornerof the ward. She, poor woman, has suffered much from the war but is verybrave. Her eldest son was killed, her second son is ill at Amiens, andthis is the second time the general has been wounded. The first time hewas in a hospital for three months. Her nephew, who is like a secondson, 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 sinceSeptember, 1914. The general's home was in the Aisne district and is, ofcourse, in the hands of the Germans. There is nothing left of the housebut the four walls; everything has been packed off to Germany, all thewood work and metal has been taken for the trenches. The day the generalwas brought in, the King of the Belgians came to decorate him, and wewere all so disappointed because we did not know about it and only oneor two of us saw him. He came in a motor, accompanied only by oneofficer, and we did not know anything about it until he had gone. We had another awful storm last night--wind and rain. Windows blew offand doors blew in, and one poor little night nurse was blown off thesidewalk 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 theyheard there were Canadians here they came over to see us. One was fromToronto, the other from Fort William. I gave them one of the Christmascakes and some cigarettes. They went away very happy. I was hoping toget news of some of our boys, but they did not know any of thempersonally but expected to see some of the men from the Twenty-sixth ina few days. I told them to tell any who could to come and see us. I havebeen hoping ever since their visit to see B---- or S---- or D---- walkin some day. It is awful to know that they are so near and not be ableto see them. April 8, 1916. A cheque came to-day from the De Monts Chapter, I. O. D. E. , which gaveme great joy. It touches me to tears to think of the way the St. Johnpeople have helped me. I wish they could have a look in here and see howmuch more I have been able to do on account of the help they have sentme. There is a soldier who helps here by the name of Baquet; his wife hasjust taken three orphan children, the oldest six years old, to lookafter, 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 didnot know how they could get along. I gave him one hundred francs andtold him it was from my friends in Canada. He did not want to take it atfirst, saying it was sent for the wounded, but I explained to him thatit was sent to me to help the soldiers and the soldiers' families. Hesaid it would mean so much to his wife, she works from four in themorning till dark. They are the sort of people who deserve help, and itis 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 hada number of cases of gas gangrene. They are trying to cure them with anew sort of serum. Two of the men really seem to be getting better. Fourcases were brought in yesterday. One poor man died at noon, and I wasglad he did not live any longer; another they had to operate on in theafternoon and take his leg off. He was in very bad shape last night butthis morning he surprised every one by asking for pen and paper to writeto his mother, and says he feels fine. Our wounded general left to-day. He could not say enough nice thingsabout the hospital. He said he was so glad he had been brought here, notonly on his own account, but he was so glad to see how wonderfully hismen were taken care of. The guns have been going incessantly for the past two days, and we hearthat the English have taken four trenches. I have also heard that someCanadians have come over lately and our B---- may be only four or fivemiles from me. I asked the general if it would be possible for me tofind out; he said he would inquire and if B---- is anywhere in reach hewould get me a pass to go and see him. I feel as if I would start outand walk to try and find him; but alas! one cannot get by the sentrieswithout proper papers. I hope my fur lined cape has not gone to the bottom. I think I shallstill need it in June, for after two wonderful sunshiny days we areagain freezing. Sunday and Monday were like days in June and we movedthe beds of the patients out in the grass and others were onstretchers. We had the phonograph going, served lemonade, biscuits, sweets and cigarettes. They had a wonderful time and all slept like topsthe next night. I think I shall have to find a new job when the war is over, for I don'tthink I shall ever do any more nursing. I am trying to find a lot of straw hats like "cows' breakfasts" andcheap parasols to protect their heads when they are taking sun baths. The dressings are taken down and one thickness of gauze only left overthe wound, and they are left in the sun from twenty minutes to two hoursaccording to what they can stand. April 11, 1916. Yesterday we had quite an interesting time with air crafts. The machinecame down so close, that we could see the pilot and his assistant whowaved to us that they were going to throw something to us. A packagelanded, almost in the pond. It turned out to be a letter tied up in ahandkerchief with some shot as weight. It was from the English boys whowere patients here for a while; they told us they would pay us a visitsome day. We could see the machine gun in front of the aeroplane quitedistinctly. In the afternoon there was another excitement--a Germanmachine chased by several French. It looked from below as if they hadgot him, but they all disappeared in the clouds and we did not know theresult of the fight. At nine o'clock there was a terrific explosion as if a bomb had droppedjust outside the gate. We all rushed out and could hear the aeroplanedistinctly, but could not see it; no damage was done near us. We havejust heard that the bomb landed just outside the village doing nodamage. Thanks for the toilet articles, they are a wise selection. What webefore considered necessities we now know are luxuries. We have just got off a motor full of convalescents going home onpermission. I hope they will get a month, some of them have been in thetrenches twenty months. May 3, 1916. I got a lot of linen hats and Chinese umbrellas to keep the sun off thepatients when they are out of doors. The two Canadian nurses are a joy to work with, for they have hadsplendid training and are the kind that will go till they drop. We have a wounded German prisoner who was brought in three days ago. Thepoor boy had to lose his right arm, and was at first terrified of everyone. He expected to be ill-treated, but now that he sees he gets thesame treatment as all the other patients he is happy and contented andvery glad to be with us. I thought if I ever saw a German in theseregions I would be capable of killing him myself, but one cannotremember their nationality when they are wounded and suffering. [Illustration: Showing linen caps and chinese umbrellas purchased forpatients from contributions. ] [Illustration: Queen of the Belgians leaving the ambulance. ] I am sending you a photo of the Queen of the Belgians, who visited usand was very nice; she spoke so highly of the Canadians and of thesplendid work they had done. PARIS, May 24, 1916. I left Dunkirk Thursday morning in time to escape the bombs, and stoppedoff 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 Ambulanceand the Canadian unit; they are both most interesting, so wellorganized. 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 Iwanted. Arrived at Paris at five the next morning rather weary, had ahot bath, the first in a real tub for eight months, and when I went tobed 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 cleanlittle place and I am quite comfortable but I miss the bathroom and thebalcony. There are no patients at the Ambulance here for the moment. All thefighting is in the north and at Verdun. Poor Verdun--it is terriblethere, one hundred days and still no let up--I think there will be nomen left in France before long and then the English will have to taketheir turn. When will it all end? Divonne is as beautiful as ever, andso quiet and peaceful one would not realize that there was a war if itwere not for the fathers and sons who will never come back, and thewomen 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, twoothers have been killed and many of the others back in the trenches. I have not been able to sleep, it is so quiet. MOBILE NO. 1, France, June 20, 1916. To-day I went over to Poperinghe to look up Margaret H----. She is incharge of the Canadian clearing hospital and is doing a wonderful work. They have been getting all the wounded from this last fight--receive oneday, evacuate the next, and the third day clean up and get ready again. It is wonderfully organized; the trains come right up to the hospitaland there is a nurse for each car, so the patients are well lookedafter. Margaret has been mentioned in despatches, I believe. I am soglad, for she certainly deserves it. June 25, 1916. I went over for Margaret H---- in the motor. She went with me to thecemetery near the hospital and I put some roses on the grave of one ofour St. John boys. I wish his mother could see how well cared for it is. Margaret came back to tea with us. To-day I have been specializing a man who has developed tetanus. I wouldalmost wish that he would die, for he has no hands, and has a great holein his chest and back, but strange to say he wants to live, is sopatient and so full of courage. When I have cases like this one I amalways so grateful to the people who have helped me in my work. If theycould see the comforts that can be given by a bottle of cologne or adozen oranges they would be rewarded. Our medicine chef was a prisoner in Germany for eleven months. Thethings that he tells us makes one's blood boil. One cannot imagine humanbeings as brutal as the Germans are. When they came into the town wherehe had his hospital, they shot all the wounded that were left and eightof his orderlies who stayed with him. He expected to be shot also, butthey needed his services so took him prisoner. July 16, 1916. Another rainy day and as cold as the dickens but we are glad to getthrough the summer without extreme heat or a pest of flies. My tetanus case is really getting better. Last week I went to a concert given at R---- for the soldiers who areresting. It was one of the nicest I have ever been at. I did not want togo, for I don't feel like any kind of gaiety, but Mrs. T---- insisted. There were only three ladies present, the rest of the salle was filledwith soldiers just from the trenches. The concert was held in a stable. Some English and Canadian officers, who are on construction work nearhere, have been coming to see us. One is Major H----, who was on theCourtenay Bay work at St. John. July 29, 1916. We are nearly eaten up with the mosquitoes so I have been to Dunkirk toget some mosquito netting. Mrs. T---- gave a grand concert to the men on the anniversary of theopening of this hospital. Denries, from the Opera Comique in Paris, andMadame Croiza, from the opera in Paris, sang. The Prince of Teck washere and in my ward, he was so nice to the patients. We had French, English and Belgian generals, colonels and officers of various kinds. NO. 3 CANADIAN CASUALTY STATION, July 31, 1916. I got twenty-four hours permission and came out here to spend the nightwith nursing Sister Margaret Hare, hoping to get some news of B----. Ihave found out where he is and that he has been on rest and went back tothe trenches to-day. They are usually on duty eight days and off eight, so Margaret is going to send him word when he next comes off to comehere and I will come over and meet him. I do hope we will be able tomake connection. It is so hard to be so near and yet not be able to seehim. If he is wounded he will have to pass through No. 10 ClearingStation, which is right next to this. I have left my name and address atthe office, so if he should be brought in they will telephone to me andI can get over to him in half an hour. The patients here are so welltaken care of. They have had a light day. I helped her a little in thedressing room this morning, saw some of the men who had come in lastnight, saw three operations. There is a very clever English surgeon hereand several McGill men. It is a scorching hot day. My tetanus patient is quite cured, is beginning to walk about. MOBILE NO. 1, August 14, 1916. We have had a strenuous and exciting week. It began with a visit fromthe King of the Belgians, who came to decorate three of my men who hadfought in the trenches with conspicuous bravery. He visited all thewards and talked with the soldiers. Like all the royalty I have met sofar, he is extraordinarily simple--wore no decorations or distinguishingmarks of any kind. We were all presented to him in turn and shook handswith him. [Illustration: Nurse and Nephew. The meeting in France, one servingwith the French, the other with the Canadian B. E. F. ] The next day we got twenty gas cases and several badly wounded men--oneCanadian from Ontario and two English boys, one was a policeman inLondon. I asked the Ontario man how he happened to get to our Ambulance, he said, "he'd be blessed if he knew, " he was working on the lines whichrun right up to the trenches when the warning for gas was given. Hestarted to put on his helmet and the next thing he knew he was in a "RedCross" ambulance on the way to the hospital. He is getting on splendidlybut we lost four of the gas cases. It is the worst thing I have seenyet, much worse than the wounded, and the nursing is awfully hard, forthey cannot be left a moment until they are out of danger. August 28, 1916. I have met our boy B---- at his rest camp not very far from here. It wasa joy to find him looking so well, and big and brown. September 9, 1916. Rain, continuous rain. The guns have been roaring without any let-up forthree days and nights, and our little barracks are nearly shaken topieces. We have had several warnings of gas attacks, but fortunatelynothing has happened. One of the orderlies kept his mask on all nightand everyone was surprised that he was alive next morning, they are themost awful smelling things you can imagine. We have never seen so many aeroplanes as during this past week. Thismorning we counted eighteen in a row. Mrs. T---- is going to organize another hospital on the Somme and isgoing to keep this one as well. She certainly has done a splendid work. We are all hoping that the fighting will be over before Christmas. October 1, 1916. The rain has begun, so I suppose we may expect to be under water for therest of the winter, but things are going well for us, so we must hopeon; but O! how dreadful it all is. A stationary balloon that is not far from here, used as a Belgianobservation post, was struck by a bomb from an aeroplane and we saw itfall in flames. The men who were in it jumped out with parachutes andboth escaped without injury. Broterl, the famous French sniper and poet, came the other day to singfor the soldiers. He is wonderful, and sang all sorts of songs that hehad composed in the trenches. The men were enchanted, it does such a lotof good, for it makes them forget for a time. One of our orderlies has just got word that one of his brothers has beenkilled at the Somme, another is dangerously wounded in the head, and athird has lost his leg--he has six brothers, all at the front. One of the men in my ward got word of the death of his brother also. Hewas a stretcher bearer and was helping a German officer who waswounded. As soon as the German got to a place of safety he shot the poorman who had been helping him. I am nearly frozen to-night and will have to go to bed. October 9, 1916. Our Bayard has come through the Courcelette fight safely, where the NewBrunswickers did such wonders; but O! at such a terrible cost. It has been very cold and rainy here. I am afraid the bad weather hasset in. Wish you would send me an aluminum hot water bottle for Christmas, another pair of Indian moccasins, and fill up the corners of the boxwith malted milk and maple sugar. I shall never forget the poor little Breton who said when he saw me--ashe roused a little when we were taking him from the ambulance, "maintenant je suis sauve" (Now I am saved). I have just received a cheque from the Rothesay Red Cross. Since Ibegan, my fund has never entirely given out, and I have been able togive such a lot of pleasure and comfort to the men. If any one wants to know what to send me you might suggest Washingtoncoffee like Lady T---- sent. It was a great success. I am too cold to write any more, so good-night. I wish I had some of Maggie's crullers and squash pie, but the Frenchdon't know anything about squash pies. Our poor man with a broken back has been moved to a hospital near hishome so his family can see him. We sent him on a mattress, fixed up withpillows and cushions so that he did not suffer at all on the journey. When I have any one who is so ill as he was I bless the good people athome counting infirmiers and men that work about the hospital--they aresoldiers who have been in the trenches for nearly two years, or beendisabled through wounds or sickness, or exchanged prisoners from Germanyunfit for military service. They call the hospital "le petit Paradis desblesses" and are so glad to be sent here. A man was brought in here theother day who was wounded for the second time, but he did not mind inthe least about his wounds, he was so glad to get back. He is delightedbecause he will not be well enough to leave before Christmas. We sent to England for some pop-corn, and to-day the men have been likea lot of happy children stringing the corn for the tree. They had neverseen it before and were much interested. We made quite a successfulpopper out of a fly screen and a piece of wire netting. The other night we were talking over the various experiences we havehad since the beginning of the war--the terrible things we haveseen--the sad stories we have heard, and the strange but very truefriendships we have formed--and we all agree that we could never havecarried on our work in such a satisfactory way if it had not been forthe gifts which have come from time to time from our home friends. Theextra food that we have been able to give to the very sick men has madeall the difference in the world to their recovery, and then the warmclothing when they go out, and the bit of money to help them over thehard place. You cannot imagine how much it means to them. I remember so well one poor little man who had reached the limit ofendurance, and when I found the sleepless nights were due to worry andnot to pain, the whole pitiful little story came out. His wife was ill, his sister-in-law dead and there were six children to be lookedafter--the eldest a boy of eleven--and no money. As long as his wife hadbeen able to run the farm they had been able to get along, but she hadgiven out. The French soldier only gets five cents a day, so he hadnothing to send them. He cried like a baby when I told him I could helphim. We sent off a money order for one hundred francs the next day, andI wish you could have seen the change in that man. That little sum ofmoney put things straight six months ago and now everything is goingwell. But he will never forget, and both he and his wife have a verywarm feeling in their hearts for the good people across the sea who cameto their rescue in a time of need. When I begin to talk of my belovedFrench it is hard to stop. [Illustration: My Salle--Christmas, 1916. ] January 1, 1917. The men had a wonderful Christmas day. They were like a happy lot ofchildren. We decorated the wards with flags, holly, mistletoe, and paperflowers that the men made, and a tree in each ward. You cannot imaginehow pretty they were. Each patient began the day with a sock that washung to the foot of his bed by the night nurses. In each was an orange, a small bag of sweets, nuts and raisins, a handkerchief, pencil, toothbrush, pocket comb and a small toy that pleased them almost more thananything else, and which they at once passed on to their children. Theyhad a fine dinner--jam, stewed rabbit, peas, plum pudding, fruit, nuts, raisins and sweets. The plum puddings were sent by the sister of one ofthe nurses. In the afternoon the trees were lighted and we had the official visit ofthe medicine chef and all the staff. After the festivities were over webegan preparing for the tree for the refugee children. We had thoughtthat we would have enough left over to manage for fifty children, butthe list grew to one hundred and twenty-five. The mayor of the villagelet us have a large room in his house, as the first place we had chosenwas too small. We had the tree on Sunday afternoon and three hundred andthirty-one children arrived. Fortunately we had some extra things sothere was enough of something to go around. They had a lovely time, eachone got a small toy, a biscuit, and most of them a small bag of sweetsand an orange. The oranges and sweets gave out, but there was enoughbiscuits and toys, but there was nothing left. We are all dead tired, for we worked like nailers for the past twoweeks; but it was worth while, for we were able to make a great manypeople happy, and now we are sending off packages to thetrenches--things that came too late for Christmas. [Illustration: So many readers of this book expressed regret that itdid not contain a photo of the one who penned these letters, as she isin home life, that we applied to the family, and after earnestsolicitation they granted this--the one in use on her passports inFrance, which we are sure will complete this passport to the hearts ofher readers. ] We expect to move this month. It will be an awful business breaking uphere, for all the barracks have to be taken to pieces and moved with us. We have begun to take an inventory, and to pack up, but I do not knowjust where we will move to, the papers are not in order yet. It is hardto believe that another year of war has begun.